Laughter in the Exchange: Lucian’s Invention of the Comic Dialogue

Dissertation

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of

Philosophy in the Graduate School of the Ohio State University

By

Anna Irene Peterson, M.A.

Graduate Program in Greek and Latin

The Ohio State University

2010

Dissertation Committee:

Tom Hawkins, Advisor

Fritz Graf

Richard Fletcher

Copyright by

Anna Irene Peterson

2010

ii

Abstract

My dissertation examines Lucian’s claim to have invented the comic dialogue. For

Lucian, this new generic category resolves the quarrel between Old Comedy and Platonic

dialogue, which he imagines arose from Aristophanes’ portrayal of Socrates in the

Clouds and the subsequent blame that Socrates directs at Aristophanes in Plato’s

Apology. Through a study of specific texts such as the Fisherman and the Nigrinus as

well as broader categories within Lucian’s corpus, I argue that Lucian rescues Old

Comedy from the attacks of Plato and his successors by attributing philosophical value to

it. My work stands in contrast to recent scholarship on Lucian, which has focused on his

relationship to the historical and cultural debates surrounding the Second Sophistic and

the Cynic tradition. While these approaches have contributed substantially to our

understanding of Lucian’s cultural and philosophical identity, I want to extend its

implications to articulate the significance of Lucian’s characterization of his writings as

the union of the comic and philosophic traditions.

The first half of my dissertation is devoted to examining the different ways in

which Lucian characterizes his literary project. In chapter one, I focus on the category of

texts generally referred to as Lucian’s prologues. While scholars have tended to view

these texts as sophistic showpieces, I argue that Lucian’s use of complex intertextual

iii

references to respond to his rivals and critics, whether real or imagined, betrays a debt to

the Aristophanic parabasis and as such characterizes the programmatic statements found

within these works are far from straightforward. As I show through a close analysis of

several of these texts, Lucian’s manipulation of the traditionally serious genres of epic,

tragedy and philosophy within these texts provides us with a methodology with which to

approach his overall literary project.

In my second chapter, I turn to the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted, two texts

that are, in effect, apologies for Old Comedy. By imagining that he is on trial for his

comic reinvention of the philosophical dialogue, Lucian engages with the critique of the

genre put forth by Plato and his followers and reinvents the philosophical apology as an

apology for Old Comedy. Through his reworking of this genre, Lucian attributes

philosophical value to Old Comedy by arguing that the socio-political focus of the genre

is necessary to save philosophy from becoming corrupted by the charlatan philosophers

that Lucian sees plaguing society.

These first two chapters contend that Lucian’s comic dialogues are more than

humorous works written in dialogue format; they reinvent Old Comedy as a species of

philosophy. In my third and fourth chapters, I consider how this understanding of

Lucian’s literary style reveals new layers of meaning in a variety of different texts. In my

third chapter, I explore how Lucian enacts this literary and philosophical program by

staging (and thereby attempting to resolve) through different comic sources, drawn not

just from Old Comedy, the sectarian debates of the philosophical schools in four key

texts: the Menippus, the Icaromenippus, the Parasite, and the Hermotimus. Closely

iv

connected with this problem is that of philosophical education, an issue that is rooted in

the Clouds and Plato’s discussions of the sophists. As I suggest, Lucian fuses both comic

and philosophical approaches to this problem so as to develop and enact his comic

dialogues. By calling into question the established philosophical schools, these texts

demonstrate the different ways in which Lucian employs his new hybrid genre and, more

importantly, how he uses it to establish his own comedic-philosophical approach as a

return to the Socratic search for knowledge before it came to be reinterpreted by the

different schools.

In contrast to the broad focus of my third chapter, my fourth and final chapter

examines the Nigrinus, a text traditionally deemed to be one of Lucian’s few positive

portrayals of a contemporary philosopher. Applying the methodology established in the

first two chapters to this text, however, I argue that an initial invocation of Platonic eros,

as well as a double allusion to the Clouds and the Phaedrus found in the description of

Nigrinus reveals that the Nigrinus is in fact a critique of the type of philosopher portrayed

in this text. By undermining Nigrinus in such a way, Lucian establishes himself as the

true philosophical writers deeply indebted to both the comic and Platonic traditions. As

the Nigrinus reveals, Lucian’s comic dialogues refer not just to works written in dialogue

form, but rather more broadly to his philosophic approach.

.

v

For my Mother, Father, and Steve

vi

Acknowledgements

It is impossible to properly thank everyone who has helped me in the process of

composing my dissertation. First and foremost, I owe the greatest debt to my advisor,

Tom Hawkins, whose continued intellectual support, guidance, and encouragement have

helped me at every step of the way. It is impossible for me to put into words what his

enthusiasm, wit, keen eye for detail, and enduring patience have meant to me over the

past few years. From the inception of this project in his Lucian seminar to its final

stages, Tom has improved almost every page of this dissertation and in doing so, has

made me a more careful reader of literature. Without him, this project would not have

been possible.

I thank Fritz Graf, who has been both a guide and a paradigm of scholarly

excellence throughout my graduate career. I am very grateful to Fritz for agreeing to be

part of this project, despite the fact it stands outside the scope of his recent scholarly

interests. His invaluable comments on my various drafts have revealed new connections

and overall have made me a better writer.

I thank Richard Fletcher, who is both a teacher and friend, for all of the generous

help that he offered on each of the chapters. Richard has always inspired me to ask

vii

overarching, difficult, and at times unanswerable questions about the material covered in

my dissertation. These questions have often pushed me beyond what I thought were my

limitations and I believe that Richard’s input have truly made this a better and more

fulfilling project.

I thank all of my friends, in particular Kira, Todd, Lindsay, and Molly, for the

emotional support that you have offered me through this long process. You have helped

me to keep focused on what is truly important and without you, I am not sure I would

have stayed sane.

I would also like to thank my parents for instilling in me the importance of hard

work and for the help and encouragement that they have always offered me. Finally, I

would like to thank my fiancé, Steve, who has been my rock during this entire process,

offering assistance at every step of this process, from my oral exams to my final

revisions. It is to them that I dedicate my dissertation.

viii

Vita

July 13, 1982……………………………………..Born, Hamilton, NY

May, 2004………………………………………..B.A. Classics, Mount Holyoke College

May, 2006………………………………………..M.A. Greek and Latin

The Ohio State University

September 2004-present…………………………Graduate Teaching Associate

Major Field: Greek and Latin

ix

Table of Contents

Abstract ......................................................................................................................ii

Dedication ..................................................................................................................v

Acknowledgments......................................................................................................vi

Vita .............................................................................................................................viii

Introduction ................................................................................................................1

1. Discussions of Old Comedy in Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides ....................7

2. Lucian and Old Comedy ............................................................................29

3. Some Terminology Defined .......................................................................31

Chapter 1 Defining the Syrian: the Prologues as Comic Parabases ...........................33

1 .Lucian’s Prologues as Comic Parabases ....................................................37

2. The Heracles ..............................................................................................42

3. The Dionysus ............................................................................................62

4. The Literary Prometheus ..........................................................................85

5. Conclusions ...............................................................................................104

Chapter 2 Lucian on the Defensive: the Fisherman and Twice Prosecuted

as Apologies for Old Comedy .......................................................................106

x

1. The Fisherman ...........................................................................................110

2. The Twice Prosecuted ................................................................................133

3. Conclusions ................................................................................................162

Chapter 3 Examples of the Comic Dialogue in Motion: the Menippus,

Icaromenippus, Parasite, and Hermotimus ...................................................164

1. Philosopher as Comic Character: Menippus ..............................................165

2. A Comic Character as Philosopher: the Parasite ......................................196

3. Lucian Playing the Part of Philosopher: the Hermotimus ..........................219

4. Conclusions ................................................................................................244

Chapter 4 The Philosopher and the Comic Writer: Nigrinus as an

Example of a Failed Philosopher ...................................................................247

1. Lucian’s Letter to Nigrinus: Platonic ἔρως and the Void

Left by Nigrinus’ Philosophy.........................................................................254

2. Nigrinus as the Song of the Sirens .............................................................266

3. A Walk in the Clouds: the Nigrinus as Comic Dialogue ...........................276

4. Conclusions: the Phaedras and the Nigrinus .............................................295

Conclusion: A Brief Look at What Happened to the Comic Dialogue......................302

Appendix: The Nebulous Genre of the Sophistic Prologue .......................................311

Bibliography ..............................................................................................................314

1

Introduction

As one of the most elusive authors of the Imperial period, Lucian is difficult to pin down

on nearly every front: political, cultural, philosophical, and literary. He tests his readers

with a myriad of allusions to the Greek Classical tradition and confounds them with a

variety of different authorial personae that result in a complex array of narrative layers.

In an attempt to better define him as an author, many recent discussions have tackled him

in terms of his complex cultural identity as a Syrian writing in Greek under the Roman

Empire.1 Others have focused on specific aspects of his work, in particular his portrayal

and discussion of philosophers, and this approach has led some scholars to classify

Lucian‟s philosophical affiliation as Cynic, Epicurean, or Skeptic. 2

Although these

discussions have revealed different and important facets of Lucian‟s writings, especially

how he manipulates his cultural identity and his serious engagement with philosophy,

they almost universally ignore Lucian‟s own accounts that appear in the Literary

Prometheus, Fisherman, and Twice Prosecuted: the union of Old Comedy and Platonic

dialogue. Moreover, there has yet to be a discussion of these passages both in light of

1 For discussion of Lucian within the context of the so-called Second Sophistic, see Jones (1986), Swain

(1996: 298-329), and Whitmarsh (2001: 237-294). 2 For discussion of Lucian‟s portrayal of and relation to the different philosophical schools, see Branham

(1989) for connections to the Cynics, Clay (1992) for those to the Epicureans, Nesselrath (1992) for those

to Skepticism, and Dolcetti (1998) for a general summary of his portrayal of the different philosophical

schools. Dolcettti‟s discussion is divided based on the different schools and in each section she evaluates

Lucian‟s connections to the respective schools. Her conclusion is ultimately similar to that of Clay.

2

one another and in terms of the rest of the corpus. This dissertation will offer a new view

of Lucian by focusing on this single, recurring motif within Lucian‟s writings: his claim

to have invented the comic dialogue through the resolution of the generic conflict

between Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue that arose from Aristophanes‟ Clouds and

Plato‟s Apology. In exploring this theme in his writings, I will argue that Lucian rescues

Old Comedy from the attacks of Plato and his successors by attributing philosophical

value to it. As I will contend, recognition of this aspect of Lucian‟s writings provides a

new methodology for approaching his philosophical affiliation, his relationship to the

literary tradition, and ultimately his treatment of his contemporary intellectual society.

Lucian carves out a place for his literary creation by honing in on what he sees as

the problematic relationship between comedy and philosophy.3 In his accounts of this

hybrid genre, however, we find Lucian defending his use of Old Comedy against charges

that it has corrupted philosophy. At the heart of these attacks staged by Lucian is the fact

that Aristophanes‟ mockery of Socrates sparked Plato to characterize comedy as hostile

to philosophy. Although Aristophanes plays a central role in the Symposium, Plato‟s

Socrates paints comedy as a potentially problematic and dangerous genre. For the

purposes of our discussion, the most notable example of this appears in the Apology,

where Socrates groups the poet‟s portrayal of him in the Clouds among his first and more

dangerous accusers:

Ἀλαιάβσκελ νὖλ ἐμ ἀξρῆο ηίο ἡ θαηεγνξία ἐζηὶλ ἐμ ἧο ἡ ἐκὴ δηαβνιὴ γέγνλελ, ᾗ

δὴ θαὶ πηζηεύσλ Μέιεηόο κε ἐγξάςαην ηὴλ γξαθὴλ ηαύηελ. εἶελ· ηί δὴ ιέγνληεο

δηέβαιινλ νἱ δηαβάιινληεο; ὥζπεξ νὖλ θαηεγόξσλ ηὴλ ἀλησκνζίαλ δεῖ

ἀλαγλλαη αὐηλ· “Σσθξάηεο ἀδηθεῖ θαὶ πεξηεξγάδεηαη δεηλ ηά ηε ὑπὸ γῆο θαὶ

3 See Nightingale (1996) for a discussion of the generic play at work in Plato‟s dialogues

3

νὐξάληα θαὶ ηὸλ ἥηησ ιόγνλ θξείηησ πνηλ θαὶ ἄιινπο ηαὐηὰ ηαῦηα δηδάζθσλ.”

ηνηαύηε ηίο ἐζηηλ· ηαῦηα γὰξ ἑσξᾶηε θαὶ αὐηνὶ ἐλ ηῇ Ἀξηζηνθάλνπο θσκῳδίᾳ,

Σσθξάηε ηηλὰ ἐθεῖ πεξηθεξόκελνλ, θάζθνληά ηε ἀεξνβαηεῖλ θαὶ ἄιιελ πνιιὴλ

θιπαξίαλ θιπαξνῦληα…

Let‟s take up from the beginning the content of the charge that has brought about

this slander against me. Meletus believed it and then brought this indictment

against me. What is it that they say when they slander me, those slanderers? Now

I must read aloud my accuser‟s affidavit, as it were. “Socrates does injustice and

is a busybody by studying the things above and below the earth, by making the

weaker argument the stronger, and teaching others these same things.” It‟s

something like this. You saw this for yourselves in the comedy of Aristophanes

that a certain Socrates was swinging around up there in the basket, claiming to

walk on air and spouting all sorts of other nonsense… (19a-b)

In this passage, Socrates refers to Aristophanes by name, blaming him for his current

legal troubles and effectively casting the genre of comedy as hostile to philosophy. This

view of comedy is reinforced in the tenth book of the Republic, where comedy is banned

alongside tragedy from the city, and in the Laws, which declare that no citizen should

study it (VII.816 e) and that it is only permissible if it is not inspired by anger (XI.935D).

The discussions of comedy in these dialogues consequently characterize it as a dangerous

genre because its attacks are ad hominem and can raise an entire population unfairly

against one individual, as in the case of Socrates.

In his accounts of his comic dialogue form, Lucian defends his reliance on

comedy against the attacks of Plato and his followers by arguing that comedy can have

philosophical value when applied to the problems plaguing contemporary times. By

invoking Aristophanes and the other poets of Old Comedy as important components of

his literary creation, Lucian draws on earlier representations of Socrates than that of

Plato, suggesting that he considers their authority to be equal or potentially more than

4

Plato‟s.4 Lucian thus bills himself as the successor to Aristophanes and the other poets of

Old Comedy and, in doing so, creates a version of the genre that could withstand the

criticism leveled against it by Plato and his successors. In considering Lucian‟s debt to

Old Comedy, my approach will not to be to catalogue the comic allusions found within

Lucian‟s corpus but rather to explore how Lucian presents his defenses of comedy as

programmatic statements for reading and understanding his whole corpus. By

disentangling Lucian‟s self-representation as the sole heir to Old Comedy and

consequently to Socrates, I will argue that we can see Lucian resurrecting comedy to

serve a philosophical purpose.

This, I believe, both builds upon and profitably redirects previous discussions of

Lucian, in particular Branham‟s groundbreaking approach. For Branham, Lucian‟s

generic outlook is defined by its combination of humorous and serious elements

(spoudogeloion), an outlook which, he argues, situates Lucian within the seriocomic

tradition that arose from Plato‟s depiction of Socrates in such dialogues as the

Euthydemus and the subsequent Cynic revaluation of the Socratic persona.5 Yet in his

discussion of Lucian‟s serious use of humor, Branham downplays Lucian‟s debt to Old

Comedy in favor of connecting Lucian‟s serious use of humor to that found in Plato‟s

writings and among the Cynics. Although this approach has significantly demonstrated

that Lucian is a serious author in his own right—and, as a result, should be the object of

continuing study—it ignores, for the most part, Lucian‟s discussions of his craft, which

4 For comic representations of philosophers, see Webster (1953; 50-6, 110-113) and Galy (1979: 109-30).

For a collection of the comic fragments that reference Socrates and other philosophers, see Olson (2007:

227-255). 5 See Branham (1989: 65-124).

5

highlight not only his debt to Old Comedy, but how his own literary creation, the comic

dialogue, represents his philosophical reinvention of that genre. As I will argue, Lucian‟s

descriptions of his literary style, in which he claims to have coaxed dialogue and comedy

to cooperate in remarkable synergy, provide us with a framework for analyzing Lucian‟s

unique writing style and, more specifically, his treatment of philosophy.

Lucian‟s interest in philosophy and the resulting portrayals of philosophical sects

has prompted scholars to classify Lucian philosophically. While Clay and Dolcetti have

highlighted Lucian‟s Epicureanism through such texts as the Alexander, Nesselrath has

contended that Lucian‟s mockery of philosophers in the Hermotimus proves a connection

to Skepticism.6 These attempts to pin down Lucian philosophically, however, fail to take

into account Lucian‟s own theoretical discussions of his approach to philosophy and the

emphasis that he places on the role played by comedy. In considering Lucian‟s claim to

have united Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue, I will approach his treatment of

philosophy from the vantage point of comedy. As I will argue, Lucian‟s comic dialogues

represent his philosophical reinvention of Old Comedy and, as such, serve as the means

by which he attacks and undermines the established philosophical schools. Although

strictly speaking Lucian is not a philosopher, I will contend that understanding how he

envisions the different components of his comic dialogues allows us to view Lucian not

simply as a topical satirist but instead as a philosophical writer. In their attacks on

dogmatism, Lucian‟s comic dialogues do not call into question the existence of

knowledge, as a Skeptic might, but rather the current means by which one obtains a

6 Cp n.2.

6

philosophical education, specifically the following of a single school or philosopher. For

Lucian, his union of Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue calls for a return to the Socratic

search for knowledge in its purest form. As I will argue, Lucian achieves this not by

turning to Plato and philosophy but to Old Comedy, thus establishing Old Comedy as an

important philosophical tool.

To fully understand the significance of Lucian‟s elevation of Old Comedy to the

status of a philosophically valuable genre, it is necessary to first consider this in terms of

contemporary literary trends. As Swain and Whitmarsh have respectively demonstrated,

the Greek authors of the imperial period carved out a Hellenic identity for themselves in

contradistinction to the political power represented by Rome through an imitation of the

language, literature, and tropes of Classical Athens.7 This trend appears most clearly in

their adoption of Attic Greek and frequent citation of the great works of Greek literature.

Lucian‟s debt to Old Comedy thus seems to bear witness to this trend, yet his repeated

need to defend his reliance on it raises questions about its reception at this time. Is

Lucian merely responding to Plato in his defense of Old Comedy? Or did Plato‟s attacks

on the genre have a lasting effect on how it was viewed? To address these questions, I

will first examine how several of Lucian‟s near contemporaries viewed Old Comedy,

specifically Aristophanic Comedy, both in terms of its value as a genre from the Classical

period and, more specifically, its representation of Socrates. Since Lucian locates the

problem faced by his new genre in the tension between Aristophanes‟ Clouds and Plato‟s

Apology, I will, for the most part, limit my focus to discussion of Aristophanes and comic

7 See Swain (1996:17-101) and Whitmarsh (2001:1-29).

7

representations of Socrates, at the expense of the other comic poets.8 Although my

discussion is not intended to be an exhaustive study of Old Comedy‟s reception during

the Imperial period, it will provide a useful point of comparison for Lucian‟s treatment of

Old Comedy, which we will explore in the subsequent chapters of this dissertation.9

Discussions of Old Comedy in Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides

In a recent article, Bowie has suggested that Old Comedy rose in popularity during the

Second Sophistic because of its status as an example of Classical Attic Greek, while New

Comedy remained the preferred comic genre for educational purposes, symposia, and

perhaps even performance.10

Though Bowie presents comparisons of the frequency of

comic allusions found in the works of Dio Chrysostom, Maximus of Tyre, and Aelius

Aristides, his discussion focuses largely on the influence of Old Comedy on Lucian's

writings and does not take into account the fact that Lucian defends his very use of it,

suggesting that the genre was not entirely well-accepted during Lucian's time.11

In

considering how Plato‟s criticism of Old Comedy (specifically Aristophanes) colored

how the authors of this period viewed the genre, I will build on Bowie‟s discussion of

learned citations by examining extended discussions of the specific merits and pitfalls of

8 Besides Aristophanes‟ plays, it is unclear whether the plays of such poets as Eupolis or Cratinus survived

in their entirety or in excerpted form. Bowie writes that “it is clear that in this period such educated Greeks

(for whom the term pepaideumenoi, „educated,‟ was widely used) were aware what Old Comedy was,

knew that Aristophanes, along with Cratinus and Eupolis, was one of its major exponents, and had read

enough, whether in complete texts or anthologies, to quote, to refer to, and to recognize the titles of plays

and lines from them, (2007:33). In contrast, Anderson (1976D) suggests that Lucian was working not from

actual texts but from information that would have been commonly known about Eupolis, (63-5). See also

Storey (2003: 37-40). 9 There still remains a need for a thorough study of Old Comedy during the Imperial period, a project I

hope to undertake in the future. 10

Bowie (2007: 33). For further discussion of the influence of Menander, see Fantham (1984). 11

We get a similar sense of Aristophanes‟ reception during his own time, see the parabasis of the Clouds.

8

Old Comedy found in the writings of Plutarch, Dio, and Aelius Aristides, all of which

question the role of Old Comedy in society, either in terms of a sophist‟s education or in

relationship to philosophy.12

Since the purpose of this section is to contextualize

Lucian‟s repeated defense of Old Comedy, I have limited my discussion only to these

authors at the expense of others, such as Athenaeus, in whose writings we find also

frequent citation of the comic poets.13

In examining the influence of Old Comedy on

these writers, however, we must first distinguish between direct allusions or references to

Aristophanes, which illustrate Bowie's point that Old Comedy was included among the

canon of literature cited by the authors of this period, and more lengthy discussions of the

merits and pitfalls of the genre. As I will argue, although Old Comedy provided fodder

for imitating the Attic style, its treatment of Socrates and base tone led some to label it as

inappropriate for the pepaideumenos to study, meaning that its popularity was tied in part

to its reputation as a problematic genre as established by Plato in the Apology, Republic,

and Laws.14

For Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides, the problem with Old Comedy is thus not

humor per se, but the low-register tone it espouses which stands in direct contrast to the

higher register of philosophy. This is striking when we consider that Socrates himself is

12

A more complete study would include such figures as Athenaeus, Maximus of Tyre, and Pausanias. For a

chart of the comic allusions found within these writers, see Bowie (2007: 44-9). As Bowie acknowledges,

an exhaustive study would also require the inclusion of the lexicographers and scholars, Moeris, Pollux,

and Philetaerus. For a comparison of Old Comedy in Lucian and Athenaeus, see Sidwell (2000). 13

For a discussion of comic citations in Athenaeus, see Sidwell (2000). According to Sidwell, Athenaeus‟

interest in Old Comedy can be divided into six categories: biographical information, the history of comedy,

persons subjected to comic treatment, disputed authorship or revision, aesthetic judgments, and description

of plots and characters (139). 14

I am here following Swain (1996) and Whitmarsh (2001) in adopting the term pepaideumenos to refer to

the Greek educated elite of this period.

9

at times depicted as a low-register figure.15

Lucian's approach to Old Comedy therefore

can be read as a critical response to both the longstanding charges leveled against the

genre and the more current ones voiced by his near contemporaries.

Old Comedy‟s status as a problematic genre initially becomes apparent when we

consider that the only positive discussion of the genre found among the writings of

Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides appears in Dio‟s thirty-second discourse. At the opening of

this speech, Dio asks the Alexandrians to listen to him as he chastises them for their love

of laughter, pleasure, and complete lack of seriousness (32.1). According to Barry, this

speech was delivered during the reign of Vespasian to an audience composed not of the

elite but of the general population of Alexandria.16

Though Dio admits that it would be

impossible to deter the Alexandrians from going to the theater, he asks that they listen to

his honest and frank speech, (νὕησ θαὶ ιόγνπ ρξεζηνῦ πνηε ἀθνῦζαη θαὶ ηὴλ ἐπὶ ηῶ

ζπκθέξνληη δέμαζζαη παξξεζίαλ, 32.5-6). This reference to his own Cynic parrhesia

sparks Dio to recall the poetic license of Old Comedy as an attempt to lend further

authority of the criticism that he is about offer the Alexandrians:

ἀιιὰ ηνῦηό γε ἐθεῖλνη θαὶ πάλπ θαιο ἐπνίνπλ, ὅηη ηνῖο πνηεηαῖο

ἐπέηξεπνλ κὴ κόλνλ ηνὺο θαη‟ ἄλδξα ἐιέγρεηλ, ἀιιὰ θαὶ θνηλῇ ηὴλ πόιηλ,

εἴ ηη κὴ θαιο ἔπξαηηνλ· ὥζηε ζὺλ πνιινῖο ἑηέξνηο θαὶ ηνηαῦηα ἐλ ηαῖο

θσκῳδίαηο ιέγεζζαη·

δῆκνο ππθλίηεο, δύζθνινλ γεξόληηνλ,

ὑπόθσθνλ,

θαὶ

ηί δ‟ ἔζη‟ Ἀζελαίνηζη πξᾶγκ‟ ἀπώκνηνλ;

θαὶ ηαῦηα ἤθνπνλ ἑνξηάδνληεο θαὶ δεκνθξαηνύκελνη, θαὶ νὐ κόλνλ ηλ

ζθεηέξσλ πνιηηλ, εἴ ηηλα ἤζεινλ πξὸο ὀξγὴλ ἀπνιέζαη ηλ ηαῦηα

15

For discussion of this view of Socrates, see Kurke (2006) on Aesop and Worman (2008) on Socrates as

an iambic teaser. See also Zanker (1996) on the visual image of Socrates. 16

Barry (1993: 90-1).

10

ιεγόλησλ, θύξηνη θαζεζηεθόηεο, ἀιιὰ θαὶ ηλ ἄιισλ Ἑιιήλσλ ἄξρνληεο,

θαὶ ἐμὸλ αὐηνῖο, εἰ ἐβνύινλην, κεδὲλ ἀεδὲο ἀθνύεηλ.

On the contrary, at least this custom of theirs [the Athenians] was very

much to their credit—that they gave their poets license to question, not

only individuals, but even the state at large, in the event that they were

acting badly. Accordingly, among many other examples that might be

cited, they said the following things in comedies:

Old Demos of Pynxtown, testy little old man, and rather deaf.

and

What deed is there that Athens would deem impossible?

They heard these things when they were celebrating a festival and while in

the process of doing democracy. In addition to this, if they wanted to

destroy someone out of anger because they were saying such things, they

not only exerted their authority over their own citizens, but also over the

other Greeks. And if they so desired, they were able to hear nothing

unpleasant. (32.6)17

Dio here characterizes Old Comedy as performing the type of elenctic questioning

(ἐιέγρεηλ) usually attributed to Socrates. This questioning took place under the sanction

of a festival and was closely connected to the democratic process, as the participle

δεκνθξαηνύκελνη suggests. Although he characterizes the genre largely as a tool for

checking on the performance of the officials of the polis, Dio‟s reference to the

Athenians‟ ability to “destroy someone out of anger” and refusal to hear anything

displeasing raises the possibility that comedy‟s corrective power could be misused.18

The

potential problem, however, is not necessarily with Old Comedy per se, but with extreme

democracy and the role that Old Comedy played in it. Moreover, Dio‟s praise in this

speech for the parrhesia inherent in Old Comedy is noteworthy because of the way he

connects it to Cynic parrhesia, a connection that we will see Lucian similarly make in the

17

All translations of Dio are adapted from Cohoon (1940). 18

In his discussion of this speech, Barry argues that it depicts Dio‟s aristocratic viewpoint, an interesting

idea when read in light of this passage since Old Comedy was a genre typically associated at this time with

the masses (1993: 83). For further discussion of this speech, see Borthwick (1972) and Jones (1978).

11

Fisherman. Yet this view of comic parrhesia is striking when read alongside the far more

critical view of it presented in the 1st Tarsic oration, where it is connected to comedy's

mistreatment of Socrates. This opinion of Old Comedy, as well as the view that it is

stylistically inappropriate for an educated person to study, pervades the discussions of the

genre at this time. By undermining Old Comedy‟s status as an important Athenian genre

for writers of the Imperial period, these attacks suggest that it has no place in

contemporary society, a view that we will see Lucian attempt to refute in the Fisherman

and Twice Prosecuted.

To begin with critiques based on Old Comedy‟s problematic relationship with

philosophy, in his 1st Tarsic discourse Dio chastises the people of Tarsus for their love of

sophistic performances as opposed to Dio‟s more serious speeches.19

In his description

of how audiences tend to disregard the philosopher because he does not flatter them, Dio

presents his audience with the following account of the relationship between Old Comedy

and Socrates:

Ἀζελαῖνη γὰξ εἰσζόηεο ἀθνύεηλ θαθο, θαὶ λὴ Δία ἐπ‟ αὐηὸ ηνῦην

ζπληόληεο εἰο ηὸ ζέαηξνλ ὡο ινηδνξεζεζόκελνη, θαὶ πξνηεζεηθόηεο ἀγλα

θαὶ λίθελ ηνῖο ἄκεηλνλ αὐηὸ πξάηηνπζηλ, νὐθ αὐηνὶ ηνῦην εὑξόληεο, ἀιιὰ

ηνῦ ζενῦ ζπκβνπιεύζαληνο, Ἀξηζηνθάλνπο κὲλ ἤθνπνλ θαὶ Κξαηίλνπ θαὶ

Πιάησλνο, θαὶ ηνύηνπο νὐδὲλ θαθὸλ ἐπνίεζαλ. ἐπεὶ δὲ Σσθξάηεο ἄλεπ

ζθελῆο θαὶ ἰθξίσλ ἐπνίεη ηὸ ηνῦ ζενῦ πξόζηαγκα, νὐ θνξδαθίδσλ νὐδὲ

ηεξεηίδσλ, νὐρ ὑπέκεηλαλ. ἐθεῖλνη κὲλ γὰξ ὑθνξώκελνη θαὶ δεδηόηεο ηὸλ

δῆκνλ ὡο δεζπόηελ ἐζώπεπνλ, ἠξέκα δάθλνληεο θαὶ κεηὰ γέισηνο, ὥζπεξ

αἱ ηίηζαη ηνῖο παηδίνηο, ὅηαλ δέῃ ηη ηλ ἀεδεζηέξσλ πηεῖλ αὐηά,

πξνζθέξνπζη κέιηηη ρξίζαζαη ηὴλ θύιηθα. ηνηγαξνῦλ ἔβιαπηνλ νὐρ ἧηηνλ

19

There is much debate among scholars about how to interpret this speech. For a good summary of the

interpretations that have been proposed, see Kokkina (2007), who herself asserts that what Dio is chastising

in this speech is the Tarsian‟s flatulence. Bost-Pouderon (2006) also surveys the various interpretations

and concludes that Tarsus likes Asiatic oratory too much.

12

ἤπεξ ὠθέινπλ, ἀγεξσρίαο θαὶ ζθσκκάησλ θαὶ βσκνινρίαο ἀλαπηκπιάληεο

ηὴλ πόιηλ. ὁ δὲ θηιόζνθνο ἤιεγρε θαὶ ἐλνπζέηεη.

The Athenians were accustomed to be abused and, I swear, they went to

the theater for the following reason: to be reproached. And they set up a

contest with a prize for the victor. They didn‟t just happen upon this on

their own, but did so in consultation with the God. And they often listened

to Aristophanes, Cratinus, and Plato [Comicus] and didn‟t punish them.

But when Socrates without the stage and benches tried to perform the task

set before him by the god, not dancing the chorus nor singing those silly

songs, they would not put up with him. And the comic poets were

distrustful and afraid, and they flattered the people as if they were

flattering a master. They stung gently by adding laughter, just as nurses

do to children, whenever it is necessary for them to drink something bitter,

they offer a cup smeared with honey. So they did no less harm than good,

when they filled the city with arrogance, jokes, and buffoonery. But the

philosopher was always critical and rebuked his listeners. (33.9-10)

In contrast to the complimentary view of the parrhesia of Old Comedy found in his

address to the Alexandrians, Dio here presents a negative view of that freedom. Dio‟s

language in this passage suggests that not only were the Athenians threatened by

Socrates, who questioned them outside the theater, but by the comic poets as well. This

fear of Socrates, according to Dio, led to the degradation of Old Comedy as a genre.20

Comedy was no longer good and free-speaking but corrupt and interested only in flattery.

Such flattery diminished the value of Old Comedy to the point that it was in fact harmful

to the Athenians because it instilled in them arrogance, jokes, and buffoonery, (ἀγεξσρίαο

θαὶ ζθσκκάησλ θαὶ βσκνινρίαο). Dio here creates a dichotomy between the divine

inspiration that sanctioned comic festivals and Socrates‟ own personal god who incited

him to philosophy. As Dio recasts the relationship between Old Comedy and Socrates,

20

Plato Comicus‟ dates are somewhat uncertain. We know that he won his first victory at the City

Dionysia c.410 BCE and seems to have been active in the late fifth and early fourth centuries.

13

the Athenians had a choice between the two and were led astray by the flattery of Old

Comedy. Dio breaks off here and we are left to consider how the poets of Old Comedy

exerted undue influence on the people of Athens and the role that that influence played in

the conviction of Socrates.

We can find similar views expressed in Plutarch's On the Education of Children.

In this text, Plutarch relates an anecdote about Socrates to illustrate why children should

be taught to restrain their anger. According to Plutarch, Socrates had the following

reaction to Aristophanes‟ Clouds:

Ἀξηζηνθάλνπο δέ, ὅηε ηὰο Νεθέιαο ἐμέθεξε, παληνίσο πᾶζαλ ὕβξηλ αὐηνῦ

θαηαζθεδαλλύληνο, θαί ηηλνο ηλ παξόλησλ “θᾆηα ηνηαῦη‟

ἀλαθσκῳδνῦληνο νὐθ ἀγαλαθηεῖο” εἰπόληνο “ὦ Σώθξαηεο;” “κὰ Δί‟ νὐθ

ἔγσγ‟,” ἔθεζελ· “ὡο γὰξ ἐλ ζπκπνζίῳ κεγάιῳ ηῶ ζεάηξῳ ζθώπηνκαη.”

And when Aristophanes brought out the Clouds, and sprinkled out all sorts

of abuse on Socrates in every possible way, someone who had been

present said to Socrates, “Are you not indignant, Socrates, that he used

you as he did in the play? “No indeed,” he replied; “when I am mocked in

the theater I feel as if I were at a big party of good friends.” (10C-D)21

Although the focus of this tale is ultimately Socrates‟ ability to rise above anger, this

passage nonetheless expresses a view of the Clouds that is indebted to the

characterization of the play as one of Socrates‟ initial accusers found in Plato‟s Apology

(18a-c). Socrates is able to laugh off Aristophanes‟ portrayal of him, yet Plutarch is not

so kind as he describes the play as committing every kind of hubris against Socrates

(παληνίσο πᾶζαλ ὕβξηλ αὐηνῦ θαηαζθεδαλλύληνο). Plutarch‟s anecdote about Socrates

presumably took place around 423, when the Clouds was performed and consequently

years before Socrates‟ trial and execution. His comments thus suggest that perhaps

21

All translations of Plutarch‟s The Education of Children are adapted from Babbit (1927).

14

Socrates should not have overlooked Aristophanes‟ portrayal of him so readily. As this

passage indicates, reading the Clouds through the lens of sympotic teasing does not in

fact translate well into a large scale theatrical performance. In other words, mockery in

the hands of the masses can be dangerous.

Both of these discussions reveal Plutarch and Dio to be drawing on Aristophanes‟

portrayal of Socrates in the Clouds and Plato‟s subsequent reaction to it as a tool for

considering the societal role assumed by comedy. In addition to these examples, we also

find several discussions in this period that question the stylistic merits of Old Comedy in

comparison to those of New Comedy. Of these discussions, the most notable and explicit

examples appear in the eighth book of Plutarch‟s Table Talk, Dio‟s discourse On

Training, and the Comparison of Aristophanes and Menander usually attributed to

Plutarch. In his account of Old Comedy at this time, Bowie argues that it was precisely

Old Comedy‟s style of language that led to its popularity during this time, while

Menander tended to be more popular in the contexts of education and symposia.22

Though the preference for Menander in these works is not surprising because of its

popularity in the latter category of contexts, it nonetheless reveals a view that Old

Comedy was a stylistically unappealing and immoral genre that should be held at arm‟s

length. In other words, while it might be acceptable to cite a line or two of Aristophanes

or another comic poet to demonstrate the extent of one‟s paideia, to fully embrace and

imitate the genre as Lucian does was something to be avoided.

22

Bowie (2007: 33).

15

The unifying thread between these discussions is that Old Comedy is in some way

inappropriate for the pepaideumenos. In the eighth book of Plutarch‟s Table Talk, for

example, a question arises as to what type of entertainment is appropriate at a

symposium. Though an anonymous sophist suggests dramatizations of Plato‟s dialogues,

this answer is rejected on the grounds that such performances would denigrate Plato‟s

works (711C). Another participant in the dialogue, Diogenianus, then proceeds to

discuss the pros and cons of more traditional genres including tragedy and comedy.

While Diogenianus dismisses tragedy because its tone is unsuitable for a sympotic

context, he discards Old Comedy because of its generally inappropriate and obscure

subject matter:

ηλ δὲ θσκῳδηλ ἡ κὲλ ἀξραία δηὰ ηὴλ ἀλσκαιίαλ ἀλάξκνζηνο

ἀλζξώπνηο πίλνπζηλ· ἥ ηε γὰξ ἐλ ηαῖο ιεγνκέλαηο παξαβάζεζηλ αὐηλ

ζπνπδὴ θαὶ παξξεζία ιίαλ ἄθξαηόο ἐζηη θαὶ ζύληνλνο, ἥ ηε πξὸο ηὰ

ζθώκκαηα θαὶ βσκνινρίαο εὐρέξεηα δεηλο θαηάθνξνο θαὶ ἀλαπεπηακέλε

θαὶ γέκνπζα ῥεκάησλ ἀθόζκσλ θαὶ ἀθνιάζησλ ὀλνκάησλ· ἔηη δ‟ ὥζπεξ

ἐλ ηνῖο ἡγεκνληθνῖο δείπλνηο ἑθάζηῳ παξέζηεθε ηλ θαηαθεηκέλσλ

νἰλνρόνο, νὕησ δεήζεη γξακκαηηθὸλ ἑθάζηῳ ηὸ θαζ‟ ἕθαζηνλ ἐμεγεῖζζαη,

ηίο ὁ Λαηζπνδίαο παξ‟ Εὐπόιηδη θαὶ ὁ Κηλεζίαο παξὰ Πιάησλη θαὶ ὁ

Λάκπσλ παξὰ Κξαηίλῳ, θαὶ ηλ θσκῳδνπκέλσλ ἕθαζηνο, ὥζηε

γξακκαηνδηδαζθαιεῖνλ ἡκῖλ γελέζζαη ηὸ ζπκπόζηνλ ἢ θσθὰ θαὶ ἄζεκα ηὰ

ζθώκκαηα δηαθέξεζζαη.

As for comedy, Old Comedy is, because of its unevenness, unsuitable for

men who are drinking. For example, the seriousness and parrhesia in the

so-called parabases is very strong and intense, and its indifference

regarding jokes and buffoonery is terribly immoderate, explicit, and

loaded with disorderly and licentious words. What is more, just as a

special waiter stands by each guest, at the banquets of the great, so

everyone would need his own scholar to explain the allusions: who is

Laespodias in Eupolis, and Cinesias in Plato, and Lampon in Cratinus, and

so on with all the persons satirized in the plays. Our dinner party would

turn into a schoolroom, or else the jokes would be without meaning or

point. (711F-712A)

16

Diogenianus‟ initial rejection of Old Comedy as being far too serious in the parabases

and overly crude in the rest of the play suggests a view that comedy should be more

homogenous in nature. His further denunciation of the genre because of its obscure

references consequently paints an image of it as too recondite to be a form of

entertainment. In other words, Diogenianus seems here to worry that the jokes of Old

Comedy would be too opaque and laborious for the participants of a symposium.23

While

Diogenianus considers Old Comedy to be completely inappropriate for a symposium, he

presents New Comedy as perfectly suitable for it. Where Old Comedy‟s style is uneven,

New Comedy is pleasant, prosaic, and neither too crude for those who are sober nor too

difficult for the more inebriated crowd to understand, (ἥ ηε γὰξ ιέμηο ἡδεῖα θαὶ πεδὴ

θαηέζπαξηαη ηλ πξαγκάησλ, ὡο κήζ‟ ὑπὸ λεθόλησλ θαηαθξνλεῖζζαη κήη‟ νἰλσκέλνπο

ἀληᾶλ· 712B).

The reasons behind Diogenianus‟ preference for New Comedy are not unique, but

appear as well in Dio‟s On Training. In this text, however, there is the sense that Dio‟s

preference goes against popular opinion. Designed as an instructional guide for a would-

be sophist, On Training discusses at length which authors a would-be sophist should

study. When he comes to the genre of comedy, Dio suggests that Menander is in fact a

better choice than any of the poets of Old Comedy:

ηλ κὲλ δὴ πνηεηλ ζπκβνπιεύζαηκ‟ ἄλ ζνη Μελάλδξῳ ηε ηλ θσκηθλ

κὴ παξέξγσο ἐληπγράλεηλ θαὶ Εὐξηπίδῃ ηλ ηξαγηθλ... θαὶ κεδεὶο ηλ

ζνθσηέξσλ αἰηηάζεηαί κε ὡο πξνθξίλαληα ηῆο ἀξραίαο θσκῳδίαο ηὴλ

Μελάλδξνπ ἢ ηλ ἀξραίσλ ηξαγῳδλ Εὐξηπίδελ· νὐδὲ γὰξ νἱ ἰαηξνὶ ηὰο

πνιπηειεζηάηαο ηξνθὰο ζπληάηηνπζη ηνῖο ζεξαπείαο δενκέλνηο, ἀιιὰ ηὰο

23

This passage would also seem to suggest that Old Comedy was a good source for the pepaideumenos

eager to showcase his knowledge through obscure references.

17

ὠθειίκνπο. πνιὺ δ‟ ἂλ ἔξγνλ εἴε ηὸ ιέγεηλ ὅζα ἀπὸ ηνύησλ ρξήζηκα· ἥ ηε

γὰξ ηνῦ Μελάλδξνπ κίκεζηο ἅπαληνο ἤζνπο θαὶ ράξηηνο πᾶζαλ

ὑπεξβέβιεθε ηὴλ δεηλόηεηα ηλ παιαηλ θσκηθλ…

I would advise you to read Menander of the comic poets quite carefully,

and Euripides of the tragedians...And let no one of the more „advanced‟

critics chide me for selecting Menander‟s plays in preference to the Old

Comedy, or Euripides in preference to the early writers of Tragedy. For

physicians do not prescribe the most costly diet for their patients, but that

which is advantageous. Now it would be a long task to enumerate all the

advantages to be derived from these writers; indeed, Menander‟s portrayal

of every character and every trait surpassed all the skill of the early writers

of comedy. (18.7)

Dio‟s insistence here that the aspiring sophist have Menander‟s poetry read to him

indicates a preference for Menander‟s language and style. Yet unlike the example from

Plutarch‟s Table Talk, Dio‟s reference to the objection that his “wiser” critics might raise

suggests that his opinion goes against a more popular elitist preference for Old Comedy.

The inclusion of this contrary view establishes a dichotomy between the poets of Old

Comedy who are labeled by Dio as πνιπηειεζηάηαη or “very expensive” and Menander

who is ὠθειίκνη or “advantageous,” partly because of his style and partly because of his

skill at depicting character types. As the metaphor of the doctor suggests, Dio views the

education that his would-be sophist might derive from Old Comedy as potentially

detrimental, though he leaves it up to his audience to infer how.

We find this concern for the educative value of Old Comedy expressed in even

greater detail in the fragmentary epitome, A Comparison of Aristophanes and Menander,

which was transmitted among Plutarch‟s works.24

Written apparently as a comparison of

the two comic poets, this text argues that the language and overall poetic style of

24

Hunter (2000: 267).

18

Aristophanes‟ plays make them unappealing and even inappropriate for an educated

person (πεπαηδεπκέλνο).25

While Aristophanes‟ language is described as coarse, vulgar,

and bawdy (θνξηηθόλ, ζπκειηθόλ, and βάλαπζνλ), this text establishes Menander‟s as the

ideal. Aristophanes‟ faults ultimately lie in his word choices and his overuse of such

stylistic devices as antitheses and puns, to name just a few. Menander, by contrast,

employs these devices in moderation (853b).26

Besides his overuse of rhetorical tropes,

Aristophanes is further censured for the heterogeneous quality of his writing:

ἔλεζηη κὲλ νὖλ ἐλ ηῇ θαηαζθεπῇ ηλ ὀλνκάησλ αὐηῶ ηὸ ηξαγηθὸλ ηὸ

θσκηθὸλ ηὸ ζνβαξὸλ ηὸ πεδόλ, ἀζάθεηα, θνηλόηεο, ὄγθνο θαὶ δίαξκα,

ζπεξκνινγία θαὶ θιπαξία λαπηηώδεο. θαὶ ηνζαύηαο δηαθνξὰο ἔρνπζα θαὶ

ἀλνκνηόηεηαο ἡ ιέμηο νὐδὲ ηὸ πξέπνλ ἑθάζηῃ θαὶ νἰθεῖνλ ἀπνδίδσζηλ·

Moreover, in his diction there are tragic, comic, pompous, and prosaic

elements, obscurity, vagueness, dignity, and elevation, loquacity and

sickening nonsense. And with all these differences and dissimilarities his

use of words does not give to each kind its fitting and appropriate use…

(853D)

Like the arguments expressed by Diogenianus in Plutarch‟s Table Talk, Aristophanes‟

poetry is here described as too uneven in tone in comparison to Menander‟s language.27

25

As Hunter notes, “the categories of humor appropriate to the educated man were a major topic of

Hellenistic ethical discussion, much of it taking its cue from Aristotle, and were a fundamental part of

newly emerging ideas about the truly “free” (ἐλεςθέπιορ) man.” (2000: 269) 26

The initial comparison goes as follows: Τὸ θοπηικόν, θηζίν, ἐν λόγοιρ καὶ θςμελικὸν καὶ βάναςζον ὥρ

ἐζηιν Ἀπιζηοθάνει, Μενάνδπῳ δ’οὐδαμῶρ. καὶ γὰπ ὁ μὲν ἀπαίδεςηορ καὶ ἰδιώηηρ, οἷρ ἐκεῖνορ λέγει,

ἁλίζκεηαι· ὁ δὲ πεπαιδεςμένορ δςζσεπανεῖ· λέγυ δὲ ηὰ ἀνηίθεηα καὶ ὁμοιόπηυηα καὶ παπυνςμίαρ. ηούηοιρ

γὰπ ὁ μὲν μεηὰ ηοῦ πποζήκονηορ λόγος καὶ ὀλιγάκιρ σπῆηαι ἐπιμελείαρ αὐηὰ ἀξιῶν, ὁ δὲ καὶ πολλάκιρ καὶ

οὐκ εὐκαίπυρ καὶ τςσπῶρ· (“Coarseness,” he says, “in words, vulgarity and bawdiness are present in

Aristophanes, but not at all in Menander; obviously, for the uneducated, ordinary person is captivated by

what the former says, but the educated man will be displeased. I refer to antitheses and similar endings and

plays on words. For Menander uses theses with proper consideration and rarely, believing that they should

be treated with care, but Aristophanes employs them frequently, inopportunely, and frigidly, 853b). 27

Menander‟s language is characterized in the following way: Ἡ δὲ Μενάνδπος θπάζιρ οὕηυ ζςνέξεζηαι

καὶ ζςμπέπνεςκε κεκπαμένη ππὸρ ἑαςηήν, ὥζηε διὰ πολλῶν ἀγομένη παθῶν καὶ ἠθῶν καὶ πποζώποιρ

ἐθαπμόηηοςζα πανηοδαποῖρ μία ηε θαίνεζθαι καὶ ηὴν ὁμοιόηηηα ηηπεῖν ἐν ηοῖρ κοινοῖρ καὶ ζςνήθεζι καὶ

ὑπὸ ηὴν σπείαν ὀνόμαζιν· (But Menander’s diction is so polished and its ingredients mingled into so

consistent a whole that, although it is employed in connection with many emotions and many types of

19

Unlike Dio‟s discussion of comedy in On Training, this preference for Menander does

not seem to be limited to the realm of education, but rather indicates a more general

preference for Menander‟s style of poetry that extends even into the realm of the theater

(854b).

Any interpretation of this text, however, is complicated by its status as a

fragmentary summary of a longer work. As the editor of the Loeb edition notes, this text

is “at best” a summary of a lost essay by Plutarch, implying of course that someone else

could have just as easily composed it. Even if we accept Plutarch as the original author, a

question about the text‟s original format still remains. Was this text originally an essay

or a dialogue, such as the discussion of comedy found in Table Talk? Recent scholarship

has accepted Plutarch as the author of the original text and focused on why Plutarch

would have portrayed Aristophanes in such a negative light. Hunter, for example, argues

that Plutarch‟s critique of Aristophanes stems from Plutarch‟s interpretation of “what

constitutes Greekness” and paideia. For Hunter, Plutarch‟s attack on Aristophanes is

itself traditional because it draws its inspiration from Homer‟s portrayal of Thersites,

Thucydides‟ account of Pericles‟ funeral oration, Socrates discussion of democracy in

Republic 8, and even the parabasis of the Clouds.28

In contrast to Hunter‟s approach,

Dobrov and Riu both see this text as revealing Plutarch‟s poetic preferences. While

Dobrov argues that Plutarch‟s partiality for Menander over Aristophanes ultimately

derives from the presence of the authorial voice in the latter‟s plays, Riu argues that the

character and adapts itself to persons of every kind, it nevertheless appears as one and preserves its

uniformity in common and familiar words in general use…853e). 28

Hunter (2000: 273-76).

20

Comparison bears witness to a fundamental difference in how literature, in particular

comedy, was conceptualized in Aristophanes‟ and Plutarch‟s respective times. For as Riu

contends, the poetry of fifth-century Athens, in particular comedy, was incomprehensible

to the audiences of Plutarch‟s day.29

While it is tempting to follow the recent scholarship and attribute the views

expressed in this text to Plutarch, the uncertainty about the original text‟s format means

that they could also have been expressed by a character within a dialogue and it is

possible that we have only one side of the argument.30

Though there is too little evidence

to determine a definite answer, this summary‟s stylistic critique of Old Comedy as well

its overall preference for Menander is similar enough to the views expressed by

Diogenianus that the association of the original text to Plutarch is not unreasonable. Since

there has already been several discussions of why Menander might be stylistically

preferable to Aristophanes for a writer such as Plutarch, I will focus my discussion on a

particularly striking comparison of Aristophanes to an aging prostitute found at the end of

this fragment, which I will argue addresses Aristophanes‟ status as a classic work among

the authors of this time.

Among the points of comparison drawn between Aristophanes and Menander is a

question of audience. Though Plutarch acknowledges that it is difficult to write

29

Dobrov writes that “the contrast drawn by Plutarch may be seen to imply the process of

depersonalization (with respect to the poet and his voice) through which the stage figures of New Comedy

acquire a more clearly defined and realistic verbal mask as the “personality” of the Creator fades from His

work.” Dobrov (1995: 54). In contrast, Riu argues that “Plutarch‟s text is illustrative of a change in the

history of Greek literature that I increasingly tend to see a deep cut which, at long last (i.e. in Plutarch‟s

time) made poetry up to the end of the 5th

century incomprehensible to these later readers.” Riu (2005:

426). 30

Riu in particular wants to read the views expressed in this text as Plutarch‟s views of comedy.

21

something enjoyable for both an uneducated and educated audience, he declares that

Aristophanes‟ poetry pleases neither:

Ἀξηζηνθάλεο κὲλ νὖλ νὔηε ηνῖο πνιινῖο ἀξεζηὸο νὔηε ηνῖο θξνλίκνηο

ἀλεθηόο, ἀιι‟ ὥζπεξ ἑηαίξαο ηῆο πνηήζεσο παξεθκαθπίαο, εἶηα

κηκνπκέλεο γακεηήλ, νὔζ‟ νἱ πνιινὶ ηὴλ αὐζάδεηαλ ὑπνκέλνπζηλ νἵ ηε

ζεκλνὶ βδειύηηνληαη ηὸ ἀθόιαζηνλ θαὶ θαθόεζεο.

Now Aristophanes is neither pleasing to the many nor endurable to the

thoughtful, but his poetry is like a prostitute who has passed her prime and

then takes up the role of a wife, whose presumption the many cannot

endure and whose licentiousness and malice the dignified abominate.

(854a)

In his discussion of this metaphor, Hunter argues that this image “confirms that

Plutarch‟s literary concerns are at base social and moral ones.”31

The image drawn here,

however, is not simply one of Aristophanes as a prostitute, which might be enough to

express the moral concerns noted by Hunter, but a more elaborate one of an aging

prostitute pretending to be a married woman. Aristophanes‟ depiction as an old prostitute

fits well with the overall characterization of the long dead genre as low class and

inappropriate for a pepaideumenos. What is striking about this metaphor, however, is the

fact that this aging prostitute is attempting to seem respectable by pretending to be a

married woman. As this passage indicates, this pretense of respectability is unbearable

and I would argue that this passage reveals a concern about the current status of

Aristophanes‟ poetry. The arguments expressed here and in the rest of the text thus

attempt to counteract the popularity that his poetry may have been enjoying among the

educated elite. I would consequently like to suggest that this text does not so much

indicate Plutarch‟s poetic preferences as it expresses a concern, like that of On Training,

31

Hunter (2000: 268). For a general discussion of Plutarch‟s dialogues, see Lamberton (2001).

22

about which texts the pepaideumenoi are studying.

The preference expressed for Menander in this text seeks to prove that despite not

being written at the height of Athens‟ literary golden age, Menander‟s plays are

preferable to Aristophanes‟. If Aristophanes, as an aged prostitute pretending to be a

married woman, appeals to no one, Menander represents the comic ideal throughout all of

Greece:

ὁ δὲ Μέλαλδξνο κεηὰ ραξίησλ κάιηζηα ἑαπηὸλ αὐηάξθε παξέζρεθελ, ἐλ

ζεάηξνηο ἐλ δηαηξηβαῖο ἐλ ζπκπνζίνηο, ἀλάγλσζκα θαὶ κάζεκα θαὶ

ἀγώληζκα θνηλόηαηνλ ὧλ ἡ Ἑιιὰο ἐλήλνρε θαιλ παξέρσλ ηὴλ πνίεζηλ,

δεηθλὺο ὅ ηη δὴ θαὶ ὁπνῖνλ ἦλ ἄξα δεμηόηεο ιόγνπ, ἐπηὼλ ἁπαληαρόζε κεηὰ

πεηζνῦο ἀθύθηνπ θαὶ ρεηξνύκελνο ἅπαζαλ ἀθνὴλ θαὶ δηάλνηαλ Ἑιιεληθῆο

θσλῆο.

But Menander, along with his charm, shows himself above all satisfying.

He has made his poetry, of all the beautiful works Greece has produced,

the most generally accepted subject in theaters, in discussions, for

readings, for instruction, and for dramatic competitions. For he shows,

indeed, what the essence and nature of skill in the use of language really

are, approaching all subjects with a persuasiveness from which there is no

escape, and controlling every sound and meaning which the Greek

language affords. (854B)

The virtues of Menander‟s comedies are thus not limited to educational use (κάζεκα), but

extend to discussions at symposia (ἐλ δηαηξηβαῖο ἐλ ζπκπνζίνηο) and theatrical contests

(ἀγώληζκα). In many of the texts that we have discussed so far, the problem of Old

Comedy has been approached from the standpoint either of its quarrel with philosophy or

the question of which comedic style is more appropriate for an educated person to study.

This reference to theatrical contests, however, suggests that the arguments expressed in

this comparison are directed not just at someone reading the two poets, but perhaps also

watching performances of their plays. Though little is known about the performance of

23

comedy at this time, the implication here seems to be that Menander‟s comedies, at least,

are being performed in a theatrical context.

This hypothesis is supported by several rhetorical questions found in the ensuing

discussion of Menander‟s poetry. As “Plutarch” continues to harp on Menander‟s

superiority as a comic poet, he argues that only Menander‟s plays draw an educated

audience to the theater: ηίλνο γὰξ ἄμηνλ ἀιεζο εἰο ζέαηξνλ ἐιζεῖλ ἄλδξα πεπαηδεπκέλνλ

ἢ Μελάλδξνπ ἕλεθα; πόηε δὲ ζέαηξα πίκπιαηαη ἀλδξλ θηινιόγσλ, θσκηθνῦ πξνζώπνπ

δεηρζέληνο; (“For what reason in fact, is it truly worthwhile for an educated man to go to

the theatre, except to enjoy Menander? And when else are theatres filled with men of

learning, if a comic character has been brought on stage?” 854b). If Menander‟s

comedies alone attract an educated audience, the implication seems to be here that there

are other comedies, perhaps those of Aristophanes, that draw a less urbane crowd.

The emphatic nature of this preference for Menander suggests that the arguments

expressed in the original text addressed Aristophanes‟ popularity among the

pepaideumenoi. An educated person should prefer Menander not only because he is

linguistically superior but also because he is stylistically superior: αἱ Μελάλδξνπ

θσκῳδίαη ἀθζόλσλ ἁιλ θαὶ ἱιαξλ κεηέρνπζηλ, ὥζπεξ ἐμ ἐθείλεο γεγνλόησλ ηῆο

ζαιάηηεο, ἐμ ἧο Ἀθξνδίηε γέγνλελ, (Menander‟s comedies have a salty wit that is without

envy and joyous, just like from the sea from which Aphrodite was born, 854C). If

Menander‟s comedies come from the same salt as Aphrodite, Aristophanes‟ represent

something far more sinister and dangerous:

νἱ δ‟ Ἀξηζηνθάλνπο ἅιεο πηθξνὶ θαὶ ηξαρεῖο ὄληεο ἑιθσηηθὴλ δξηκύηεηα

θαὶ δεθηηθὴλ ἔρνπζη· θαὶ νὐθ νἶδ‟ ἐλ νἷο ἔζηηλ ἡ ζξπινπκέλε δεμηόηεο ὑπ‟

24

αὐηνῦ, ἐλ ιόγνηο ἢ πξνζώπνηο· ἀκέιεη θαὶ ηὰ κεκηκεκέλα πξὸο ηὸ ρεῖξνλ

κεκίκεηαη· ηὸ γὰξ παλνῦξγνλ νὐ πνιηηηθὸλ ἀιιὰ θαθόεζεο, θαὶ ηὸ

ἄγξνηθνλ νὐθ ἀθειὲο ἀιι‟ ἠιίζηνλ, θαὶ ηὸ γεινῖνλ νὐ παηγληδεο ἀιιὰ

θαηαγέιαζηνλ, θαὶ ηὸ ἐξσηηθὸλ νὐρ ἱιαξὸλ ἀιι‟ ἀθόιαζηνλ. νὐδελὶ γὰξ ὁ

ἄλζξσπνο ἔνηθε κεηξίῳ ηὴλ πνίεζηλ γεγξαθέλαη, ἀιιὰ ηὰ κὲλ αἰζρξὰ θαὶ

ἀζειγῆ ηνῖο ἀθνιάζηνηο, ηὰ βιάζθεκα δὲ θαὶ πηθξὰ ηνῖο βαζθάλνηο θαὶ

θαθνήζεζηλ.

But Aristophanes‟ jokes are mean spirited and rough and possess a

sharpness that wounds and bites. And I do not know where his commonly

accepted cleverness is, in his words or in his characters. And he does not

care that what he imitates he imitates for the worse. For his cleverness is

not political but malicious, and his rusticity is not simple but silly, his

humor is not playful but ridiculous, and his erotic material not joyous but

licentious. For the man seems to have written poetry not with a decent

person in mind, but the indecent and outrageous material for the

licentious, the slanderous and bitter passages for the envious and

malicious.

Though this passage marks the conclusion of what we have of this summary, its overly

negative characterization of Aristophanes provides us with a sense of what Aristophanes

was known for at this time, namely his cleverness (ἡ ζξπινπκέλε δεμηόηεο), which was

political (πνιηηηθόλ) in nature. Furthermore, his works appear to have been known for

having a simple rustic quality (ηὸ ἄγξνηθνλ), for their humor (ηὸ γεινῖνλ), as well as

erotic jokes (ηὸ ἐξσηηθόλ). This characterization of Aristophanes‟ poetry, like that of

Diogenianus‟ in Plutarch‟s Table Talk and that of Dio in On Training, reveals an opinion

of Old Comedy that seems to contradict the view that Aristophanes and the other poets of

Old Comedy belong among the great author‟s of Greece‟s past. Old Comedy‟s rise in

popularity at this time thus stemmed not only from its status as an important source of

Attic style and wit, as Bowie has suggested, but also from the view, established by Plato,

that it represents a danger to society, or, at the very least, that emphasizing the potential

pitfalls of the genre became a kind of rhetorical trope or exercise.

25

As we have seen, the Comparison raises the issue of which type of comedy is

more appropriate for a pepaideumenos to watch. In On the Prohibition of Comedy,

Aristides likewise addresses this question and concludes that all comic performances are

problematic and dangerous. Delivered sometime around 157-165 CE at Symrna, this

oration argues against either a real or imagined suggestion that comic performances be

allowed during a celebration of Dionysus.32

For Aristides, there are two main reasons

why comedy as a genre should be banned: comedy is inappropriate for a festival context

and is a useless and potentially dangerous genre. In terms of the first reason, Aristides

offers the following explanation:

ἓλ δὲ ηνύηνηο ὃ πξόζεζηη ηνῖο κὲλ πνιινῖο ἐπηεηθο θεραξηζκέλνλ, ηνῖο δ‟

ἐπηεηθέζη πάλησλ ἀληαξόηαηνλ, ηνῦη‟ ἐθπνδὼλ ἀλειεῖλ, ιέγσ ηὰο

βιαζθεκίαο θαὶ ηνὺο θώκνπο ηνπηνπζὶ ηνὺο κεζεκεξίλνπο, θαὶ λὴ Δία γε

ηνὺο ἐπὶ ηαῖο παλλπρίζη, θαὶ κήηε πνηεηὰο εἶλαη ηνύησλ κήηε ἀγσληζηὰο,

κεδὲ παίδεηλ ἃ κὴ βέιηηνλ.

But one practice which is included in these [festivals], reasonably pleasant

to the masses, but most painful of all to reasonable men, this I ask you to

remove, I mean the defamation and these daytime revels, and by Zeus,

those at the night festivals as well, and I ask that there be neither poets nor

actors of these works, and no jokes which were better not made. (29.4)

Like Plutarch‟s view of Old Comedy, comedy for Aristides is a genre associated with the

lower classes, not with the educated elite.33

As Behr has noted, Aristides‟ criticism of comedy has its origins in Plato‟s

critique of the genre.34

In fact, many of the faults that Aristides finds with comedy are

reminiscent of Socrates‟ critique of mimetic poetry in Republic 3. To briefly summarize

32

Behr (1981: 389). 33

Aristides‟ concern here that at a festival people properly reverence a god seems to be in line with the

religious fanaticism found in such texts as the Sacred Tales. 34

Behr (1981: 388).

26

a complex set of arguments, for Socrates, poets such as Homer are unsuitable for young

children because they present the gods in an unfavorable light. As Socrates explains to

Adeimantus:

Καὶ κὴλ ηνῖο γε ἀθνύνπζηλ βιαβεξά· πᾶο γὰξ ἑαπηῶ ζπγγλώκελ ἕμεη θαθῶ

ὄληη, πεηζζεὶο ὡο ἄξα ηνηαῦηα πξάηηνπζίλ ηε θαὶ ἔπξαηηνλ θαὶ—

νἱ ζελ ἀγρίζπνξνη,

νἱ Ζελὸο ἐγγύο, ὧλ θαη‟ Ἰδαῖνλ πάγνλ

Δηὸο παηξῴνπ βσκόο ἐζη‟ ἐλ αἰζέξη,

θαὶ—

νὔ πώ ζθηλ ἐμίηεινλ αἷκα δαηκόλσλ.

ὧλ ἕλεθα παπζηένλ ηνὺο ηνηνύηνπο κύζνπο, κὴ ἡκῖλ πνιιὴλ εὐρέξεηαλ

ἐληίθησζη ηνῖο λένηο πνλεξίαο.

Moreover, these stories are harmful to people who hear them, for everyone

will be ready to excuse himself when he‟s bad, if he‟s persuaded that

similar things both are being done now and have been done in the past by

“Close descendants of the gods, those near to Zeus, to whom belongs the

ancestral altar high up on Mount Ida, in whom the blood of gods has not

weakened.” For that reason, we must put a stop to such stories, lest they

produce in the youth a strong inclination to do bad things (3. 391e-392a)

Likewise, Aristides argues that not only do performances of comedy at festivals defame

the god, but they also go against what society teaches its children:

θαὶ ηνὺο κὲλ παῖδαο θειεύνκελ εὐζηνκεῖλ, θἀλ ηνῖο δηδαζθαιείνηο θαὶ

θαη‟νἰθίαλ πξνδηδάζθνληεο ὡο ἃ πνηεῖλ αἰζρξὸλ νὐδὲ ιέγεηλ θαιὸλ, πάιηλ

δὲ εἰο ηαπηὸλ ἀζξνίζαληεο παῖδαο θαὶ γπλαῖθαο θαὶ πᾶζαλ ἡιηθίαλ

θαθεγνξίαο ἆζια ηίζεκελ, θαὶ ηνῖο ἄξηζηα ἐθκειεηήζαζηλ ὅπσο εἰο θέξδνο

ἔζηαη παξαζθεπάδνκελ.

And we order our children to use good language. And we teach them both

at school and in their homes that it is not proper to say what it is shameful

to do. Yet when we have gathered together our children, wives, and every

age group, we offer prizes for slander and we make it profitable for those

who have trained with the best success. (29.13)

Comedy should thus be banned from a festival because it sanctions behavior otherwise

deemed inappropriate.

27

After laying out his basic arguments, Aristides turns to address the belief that it is

a good thing to have sanctioned comic freedom (16). For Aristides, the freedom

associated with comedy is dangerous because the less educated people are in charge, and

consequently there is no limit on who is ridiculed (20-22). Furthermore, Aristides

charges that such comic contests are corrupt:

ἀιιὰ θαὶ πξὸο ἔρζξαλ θαὶ πξὸο ράξηλ ηὴλ ἑηέξσλ, ηὸλ κὲλ ἀξγύξηνλ

αἰηήζαληεο νὐ ηπρόληεο, ηνῦ δ‟ ἐξαζζέληεο νὐ πείζαληεο, νὕησ ςέγνπζη,

θαὶ πάιηλ αὖ ζησπζη δηὰ ζάηεξα, ὥζηε νὐ ηνὺο αἰζρξο δληαο θαλεξνὺο

θαζηζηᾶζη. ζθέςαζζε δ‟ νὑησζὶ, ηίλαο κάιηζη‟ εἰθὸο ἐμσλεῖζζαη ηὰο

θαθεγνξίαο; ἆξ‟ νὐ ηνὺο ηὰ ηνηαῦηα ζπλεηδόηαο ἑαπηνῖο θαίεη‟ ἄλ; ηίλαο

δ‟ ὡο ἥθηζηα ηνύησλ θξνληίδεηλ; ἆξ‟ νὐρ νἵηηλεο αὑηνῖο θαὶ ηνῖο

βεβησκέλνηο ζαξξνῦζη; δῆιόλ πνπ. νὐθνῦλ ηἀλαληία ηῆο ὑπνζρέζεσο

γίγλεηαη, νἱ κὲλ ἀζειγεὶο θαὶ αἰζρξνὶ ἀζνη ηῶ ιόγῳ, θσκῳδνῦληαη δ‟ νὓο

ἥθηζηα δεῖ.

But their criticism is conditioned by their hatred or by their desire to

please other men, depending on whether they have asked for money and

not received it, or have fallen in love with someone and not persuaded

him; and again they are silent for the opposite reason, with the result that

they do not make a public display for those who live shamefully.

Consider the matter in the following way. Who most likely buys off

slander? Would you not say those who are conscious of having committed

such acts? But who likely cares least of all about these matters? Is it not

those are confident in themselves and their manner of life? Clearly.

Therefore the opposite of what they promised occurs. The wanton and the

shameful are immune to their regard, those are satirized who least should

be.

As Aristides goes on to argue, the reputation of a city lies in that of its citizens. In other

words, public attacks on the characters of individuals are also attacks on the city itself.

In light of the flaws that Aristides sees in the overall genre of comedy, we might

expect his speech to include a specific attack on the genre of Old Comedy. Yet in the

midst of these arguments, Aristides laments that comedy is no longer what it once was in

fifth-century Athens: θαὶ ὅζνλ κὲλ, ὦ γῆ θαὶ ζενὶ, ηὸ κέζνλ ηῆο ηε λῦλ θηβδειίαο θαὶ

28

ὁπόζε ηηο ἔλ γε ηαῖο θαινπκέλαηο παξαβάζεζη λνπζεζία θαὶ παίδεπζηο ἐλῆλ ἐ ιέγεηλ.

(And, O earth and gods, I forbear to say how much difference there is between the

present counterfeit form of comedy and all of the admonition and education which was

contained in what was called the parabasis, 28). Whereas Diogenianus in Table Talk

regarded the parabasis as overly serious and not in line with the rest of the play, Aristides

here praises it for its educative values. This critique of contemporary comic

performances, however, does not provide us with much information about what form

comedy had taken at this time. Like Old Comedy, this comedy seems to be performed

within the context of a festival of Dionysus and to mock contemporary figures. This

would seem to indicate that, much to Aristides‟ displeasure, new comedies are being

written and performed.

For the purposes of our discussion, Aristides‟ speech is interesting because it

suggests not only that comedies continued to be written and performed, but also that there

was concern regarding the appropriateness of the genre as whole. These concerns are in

large part traditional ones that have their roots in Plato. As the critiques of comedy

found in Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides suggest, Old Comedy‟s popularity stemmed not

only from its Attic language and style, but also from the fact that Plato critiqued the

genre. In other words, Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides‟ concerns regarding the value of

comedy are indebted to Plato‟s hostility to the genre. Read in light of these texts, it is

now possible to see how Lucian‟s assertion that he has brought together Old Comedy and

Platonic Dialogue likewise engages in this debate, only from the opposite side. In

29

championing the side of comedy, Lucian engages not simply with the literary tradition

but his contemporaries as well.

Lucian and Old Comedy

In approaching Lucian‟s treatment of Old Comedy, I will divide my discussion into two

halves: the first examines Lucian‟s theoretical definitions of his comic dialogues and the

second considers how he enacts this hybrid genre. In chapter one, I study the category of

texts generally referred to as the prologues. While scholars have tended to view these

texts as sophistic performance pieces, I argue that Lucian‟s use of complex intertextual

references to respond to his rivals and critics, whether real or imagined, betrays a debt to

the Aristophanic parabasis and as such characterizes the programmatic statements found

within these works as far from straightforward. Through a close analysis of the Heracles,

Dionysus,and Literary Prometheus, I show that Lucian‟s manipulation of the traditionally

serious genres of epic, tragedy, and philosophy provides us with a methodology with

which to approach his overall literary project.

In my second chapter, I turn to the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted, two

texts that are, in effect, apologies. In them, Lucian imagines that the likes of Socrates,

Plato, and even the personification of Dialogue are suing him for degrading philosophy

by uniting it with comedy. These defenses of comedy, as I argue, represent Lucian‟s

response to the hostility towards Old Comedy voiced by Plato and his followers. By

imagining that he is on trial for his comic reinvention of the philosophical dialogue,

Lucian engages with this view by reinventing the philosophic apology as an apology for

30

Old Comedy. In doing so, these texts attribute philosophical value to Old Comedy by

arguing that the socio-political focus of the genre is necessary to save philosophy from

becoming corrupted by the charlatan philosophers that Lucian sees plaguing society.

These first two chapters argue that Lucian‟s comic dialogues are more than

humorous works written in the dialogue form; they reinvent Old Comedy as an important

tool for conducting philosophy. These discussions are significant because they provide us

with a sense of what Lucian hopes to achieve through his new genre. Yet, this focus

leaves several questions unanswered: how does Lucian enact this new genre? And does it

always take the same form? In an attempt to address these questions, the second half of

my dissertation considers how understanding Lucian‟s new generic hybrid helps us read

his corpus as a whole by exploring the fluidity of the comic dialogue genre. In my third

chapter, I explore how Lucian enacts this literary and philosophical program by staging

(and thereby attempting to resolve) through different comic sources, drawn not just from

Old Comedy, the sectarian debates of the philosophical schools in four key texts: the

Menippus, the Icaromenippus, the Parasite, and the Hermotimus. Closely connected

with this problem is that of philosophical education, an issue that is rooted in the Clouds

and Plato‟s discussions of the sophists. As I will suggest, Lucian fuses both comic and

philosophical approaches to this problem so as to develop and enact his comic dialogues.

By calling into question the established philosophical schools, these texts demonstrate the

different ways in which Lucian employs his new hybrid genre and, more importantly,

how he uses it to establish his own comedic-philosophical approach as a return to the

Socratic search for knowledge before it came to be reinterpreted by the different schools.

31

Whereas the third chapter considers a variety of different dialogues largely from

the perspective of the comic tradition, the fourth and final chapter focuses solely on

dialogue, both Platonic and Lucianic, in the Nigrinus, a text traditionally deemed to be

one of Lucian‟s few positive and serious portrayals of a contemporary philosopher.

Applying the methodology established in the first two chapters to this text, however, I

argue that an initial invocation of Platonic eros, as well as a double allusion to the Clouds

and the Phaedrus found in the description of Nigrinus reveals that the Nigrinus is in fact

a critique of the type of philosopher portrayed in this text. By undermining Nigrinus in

such a way, Lucian establishes himself as the true philosopher deeply indebted to both

the comic and Platonic traditions. As the Nigrinus reveals, Lucian‟s comic dialogues

refer not just to works written in dialogue form, but rather more broadly to his

philosophic approach.

Some Terminology Defined

In examining Lucian‟s “comic dialogues,” it is important to first consider what is

meant by the term “comic.” Although often taken by scholars of Lucian to refer simply

to the humorous elements of Lucian‟s writings, which are admittedly numerous, I will

interpret this term as referring to the Greek comic tradition and specifically Old

Comedy.35

Moreover, as I discuss Lucian‟s debt to the comic tradition, I will use,

whenever possible, the name of the specific poet he is indebted to. When that is not

35

The ambiguity in this term can be seen in Branham‟s interpretation of the comic elements of Lucian‟s

writings as deriving largely from the Socratic and subsequent Cynic traditions.

32

possible or in cases of more general discussions, I will use Old Comedy to refer to comic

the poets of the fifth and fourth centuries BCE, but I will follow Bowie in assuming that

during the imperial period Aristophanes had become the figure head of the genre, with

Cratinus and Eupolis as its other main poets.36

In the case of “dialogue,” I will use this

term to refer specifically to Platonic dialogue, unless otherwise noted. From these

attempts at specificity, this dissertation will aim to provide a clearer understanding of

how Lucian envisions his relationship to the literary tradition, both comic and

philosophical, and the literary trends of his period.

36

Bowie (2007:33).

33

Chapter 1

Defining the Syrian:

The Prologues as Comic Parabases

At the end of the prologue, So You Think I’m a Literary Prometheus, Lucian expresses

concern that his new hybrid genre, the comic dialogue, has diminished the beauty

(θάιινο) of its two components, comedy and philosophical dialogue (Lit. Prom. 5). As

Lucian explains, the two genres were once polar opposites. Whereas Dialogue was a

private genre that spent time either at home or with a few companions in the shaded

walks, (ὁ κὲλ νἴθνη θαζ‘ἑαπηὸλ θαὶ λὴ Γία ἐλ ηνῖο πεξηπάηνηο κεη‘ ὀιίγσλ ηὰο δηαηξηβὰο

ἐπνηεῖην, Lit. Prom. 6), Comedy used to be found in public, devoting herself to theater,

jokes, and poetry, (ἡ δὲ παξαδνῦζα ηῷ Γηνλύζῳ ἑαπηὴλ ζεάηξῳ ὡκίιεη θαὶ μπλέπαηδε θαὶ

ἐγεισηνπνίεη θαὶ ἐπέζθσπηε θαὶ ἐλ ῥπζκῷ ἔβαηλε πξὸο αιὸλ ἐλίνηε θαὶ ηὸ ὅινλ

ἀλαπαίζηνηο κέηξνηο ἐπνρνπκέλε ηὰ πνιιά., Lit. Prom. 6). In addition to this, Comedy

mockingly labeled Dialogues‘ followers as ―deep thinkers‖ (θξνληηζηάο), ―high-talkers

(κεηεσξνιέζραο), and ―air-walkers‖ (ἀεξνβαηνῦληα), hanging out in the clouds

(λεθέιαηο), and measuring the sandals of fleas (ςπιιῶλ πεδήκαηα δηακεηξνῦληαο, Lit.

Prom. 6).

34

As this description of the two genres makes clear, they differ not just in form and

content but also in how Lucian conceptualizes them. Dialogue, on the one hand, is

described in general philosophical terms with phrases such as ἐλ ηνῖο πεξηπάηνηο and ηὰο

δηαηξηβάο, while the description of Comedy‘s portrayal of Dialogue‘s followers as

θξνληηζηάο, ἀεξνβαηνῦληα, and ςπιιῶλ πεδήκαηα δηακεηξνῦληαο directly recalls not

only Aristophanes‘ Clouds but also the quarrel between philosophy and comedy initiated

by that play and reaffirmed in Plato‘s Apology.1 Similar to what we saw in our brief

examination of Plutarch‘s, Dio‘s, and Aristides‘ discussions of Old Comedy, Lucian‘s

language pinpoints the seeds of the problem that he now faces in the Literary

Prometheus, namely how to harmoniously blend the two genres, in Old Comedy and

specifically Aristophanes‘ portrayal of Socrates in the Clouds. Unlike the attacks on Old

Comedy discussed in the introduction, however, Lucian turns to the comic portrayal of

Socrates to inform his audience‘s understanding of his literary craft. In this chapter I will

explore how Old Comedy and the problems associated with it serves as an important tool

by which Lucian defines his literary style in three of his prologues: the Heracles, the

Dionysus, and the Literary Prometheus.

In each of these prologues, Lucian expresses anger towards previous audiences,

who have scorned his literary hybrids because of their comic nature and thus denied their

merit. As these prologues make clear, Lucian‘s comic approach to traditionally serious

genres is regarded as an affront to the literary tradition and inherent in these texts is a

conflict between author and audience, comedy and other more serious genres, and

1 For the allusion to the Clouds, see Sidwell (2005:353).

35

tradition and innovation. In other words, Lucian believes that his audiences will overlook

his work because of its comic aspects and novel approach to the more traditional genres

of rhetoric, tragedy, and philosophical dialogue. His previous audience‘s failure to

recognize the complexity of his works sparks Lucian to instruct his current one in how to

properly appreciate different aspects of his literary style. In the Heracles, this takes the

form of a reevaluation of the role of rhetoric through a comically incongruous image of a

Celtic Heracles, while in the Dionysus and the Literary Prometheus Lucian explores

more specifically the problem of uniting comedy with the serious genres of tragedy and

philosophical dialogue. Although these prologues differ in their subject matter, they

share the presumed goal of creating an ideal audience who will not fail to appreciate

Lucian‘s writings in all of their complexities. These texts are therefore significant for our

discussion because the tension between innovation and tradition found in them presents

us with a paradigm for understanding Lucian‘s merging of Old Comedy and Platonic

dialogue, namely that he regards his literary achievement as the union of opposites.

Lucian‘s annoyance at his audience‘s ignorance, however, has the added effect of

not only boasting about his literary achievements but also challenging us as his audience

to notice the complexity of his work. Though it is tempting to interpret these prologues

as programmatic statements, Lucian frustrates our expectations by concluding each text

with a final, paradoxical image that forces us to reevaluate everything that has preceded

it. These images reveal further complexities that mockingly defy the audience and even

Lucian‘s own previous attempts to classify his work in terms of one particular genre. The

goal of this chapter is thus not to pin down Lucian‘s sources but to illustrate how Lucian

36

uses generic tensions to define his literary project for his audience as bridging the divide

between tradition and innovation and comedy and philosophy. As I will argue, Lucian's

descriptions of his craft in these texts begin to provide us with a methodology for how to

approach his union of Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue and, as such, are essential to

understanding Lucian as an author. To better understand what is at stake in these texts, I

will propose a new way of approaching the generic category of the prologue as a whole

that attempts to situate these texts not in terms of contemporary sophistic performances

but rather the tradition of the comic parabasis. Read in light of the parabases of Old

Comedy, the programmatic statements found in these prologues are not straightforward

statements of intent, but deeply ironic moments of self-characterization that engage not

only with the comic tradition but also with the more serious pursuit of philosophy.

My analysis of Lucian‘s description of his craft in the Heracles, Dionysus, and

Literary Prometheus will therefore begin with a discussion of how Lucian‘s prologues

share core similarities with an Aristophanic parabasis, such as the presence of an ironic

critique of the author and an engagement in a poetic or, in the case of Lucian, sophistic

rivalry. I will demonstrate that these elements of Lucian‘s self-characterization

challenge us as his audience to uncover not only the ways in which he imitates traditional

genres, such as rhetoric, philosophical dialogue, and comedy, but also the novel ways he

melds them with other genres and consequently changes them. To better illustrate this

point, I will therefore begin my discussion with the Heracles and the image of Lucian‘s

rhetoric that it presents. Though the text does not overtly address Lucian‘s union of Old

Comedy and Platonic dialogue, it nonetheless presents us with one of the few times that

37

we can see Lucian fully embrace the novelty and mixed nature of his literary approach.

Often read as a counterpart to the Heracles, the Dionysus similarly addresses the

hybridity of Lucian‘s writing but from the standpoint of melding tragedy and comedy. As

I will argue, Lucian here engages directly with the hypothesis made by Socrates at the

end of Plato‘s Symposium that the same poet could compose tragedy and comedy.

Lucian‘s fusion of serious and comic elements as well as his engagement with Plato thus

puts us in mind of his claims to have united comedy and dialogue found in the Literary

Prometheus. These statements, however, suggest something far from a straightforward

literary hybrid and point to something more akin to the type of provocative questioning

associated with the Socratic method.

I. Lucian's Prologues as Comic Parabases

Though Lucian‘s prologues are a diverse group of texts, certain patterns can be

discerned.2 As a whole, they are characterized by an engagement with the traditional

generic categories such as epic, tragedy, and history, to name just a few. Within this

context, we often find Lucian responding to the criticism of his audience or presumed

sophistic rivals, who are never named, but seem to represent the view that one should

display one‘s paideia through frequent learned citations.3 In this section, I will suggest

that Lucian adopts the Aristophanic parabasis as a model for deploying the intertextuality

and rivalry that pervades his self-presentation in the Literary Prometheus.

2 For a brief discussion of the generic category of ―prologue,‖ see the attached appendix.

3 Lucian often introduces these views either as commentary on his innovation, such as in the Zeuxis 1-2, or

as a response to his audience‘s disdain of him, for example Dionysius 5-6.

38

Before examining how Lucian imitates the Aristophanic parabasis, however, we

must first briefly define its core characteristics. The role of the parabasis in a comedic

performance has long troubled scholars of Old Comedy. For the purpose of this

discussion, I will focus on its most basic definition as a “choral digression” from the

action of the play that typically comments on certain social or political issues as well as

lauding the virtues of the poet in comparison to his comedic rivals.4 Hubbard argues that

the parabasis is also a highly intertextual speech in which the poet typically offers an

ironic critique of the poet himself.5 This “self-criticism” noted by Hubbard appears in

discrepancies between the assertions of the parabasis and the action of the play. To cite

just one example of this, in the parabasis of the Clouds Aristophanes expresses his

frustration that an earlier version of the play failed, despite his assumption that both the

play and his audience are wise (σοφo/ς, 520-22). Yet as the parabasis continues,

Aristophanes blames his audience for the failure of his play (εἶη‘ ἀλερώξνπλ π‘ἀλδξῶλ

θνξηηθῶλ / ἡηηεζεὶο νθ ἄμηνο ὤλ. ηαῦη‘ νὖλ κῖλ κέκθνκαη / ηνῖο ζνθνῖο, 524-6). As

Major notes, Aristophanes “knowingly attempts the impossible,” in that he boasts about

his own wisdom at the same time as he insults that of his audience.6 For Aristophanes’

audience, who are unlikely to agree with his decision to blame them for his loss, there is a

disparity between the parabasis’ assertions and how the audience interprets their role in

the poet’s loss that causes the parabasis’ boasts to appear ridiculous. Such self-mockery

4 Rosen (1992).

5 Hubbard (1991: 28-30).

6 Major (2006: 139).

39

reveals the parabasis to be as much a source of comedy as the characters within the play

proper.7

Although there are admittedly essential differences between a comic parabasis

and Lucian's prologues, the most obvious being the differences in the performative

contexts, Lucian's prologues nonetheless share certain core characteristics with an

Aristophanic parabasis.8 For example, like Aristophanes’ parabases Lucian’s prologues

exist outside the main performance. Whereas a parabasis offers commentary in the midst

of the play, Lucian’s prologues illustrate beforehand the novelty of Lucian’s work and in

particular his complex use of intertextual references. This intertextuality, however,

extends beyond allusions to specific authors to include a reliance on multiple genres

simultaneously.

Closely intertwined with the issue of intertextuality in Lucian's prologues is his

characterization of his writing as both innovative and traditional. Such comments reveal

that Lucian’s self-criticism works on two levels. On the one hand, many of these texts

respond to his audience’s criticism of Lucian’s literary innovation. While scholars have

long looked to Aristophanes’ parabases for evidence of poetic rivalries among the poets

7 As Hubbard (1991) argues, the self-mockery found within this parabasis and as well as others

exemplifies the type of humor that Socrates will later use to define ηὸ γεινῖνλ in the Philebus, (28-30).

For as Socrates argues, what makes a person funny is a recognizable lack of self-awareness, or in other

words, a failure to follow the Delphic injunction to ―know thyself,‖ (γλῶζη ζαπηόλ, Plutarch The E at

Delphi 385D). The lack of self-awareness must be recognizable because otherwise the person would

appear to be powerful and consequently would be feared and hated (48C). Aristotle later develops this

theory into his two comic figures, the boaster (ἀιαδώλ) and its opposite, a person who possesses

εἰξσλεία, (Nicomachean Ethics 4.8). Hubbard argues that such figures can already be noted in

Aristophanic comedy, in particular in the parabasis (2-11). Building on this theory, Major (2006) argues

that the parabasis of the Clouds represents an example of an ἀιαδώλ figure. 8 Hubbard (1991) says explicitly that a prologue is a different entity from a parabasis, which he says is ―in

a sense standing outside of the dramatic enactment,‖ (1). Hubbard here is referring presumably to a

prologue that would have been part of a play, rather than a separate text.

40

of Old Comedy, little is known about who Lucian’s rivals may have been, real or

imagined, and it is possible that such criticism is itself a rhetorical trope.9 This criticism,

however, is not the full story. As I will argue in my discussion of the Literary

Prometheus, Lucian initially sets out to respond to such criticisms only to conclude the

text by comparing his writing to Prometheus' sacrifice trick, a destabilizing image that

forces us to re-critique his response. Lucian’s prologue thus mocks any attempts made

by his rivals, his audience members, and, for that matter, himself to categorize his style of

literature.

The connection that I have drawn here between Lucian's prologues and

Aristophanic parabases highlights Lucian's attempts to position his works within a larger

comedic tradition. Read as such, we can begin to see how Lucian's prologues, and in

particular the Literary Prometheus, depict in miniature the important role that Old

Comedy plays in Lucian's “comic dialogues.” My interest in this group of texts

consequently begins from the same point as Branham in that I view them as an important

window into understanding Lucian’s style and, as I will contend, his “comic dialogues.”

For Branham, the serious role that Lucian attributes to humor allows us to categorize his

works in terms of the Bakhtinian notion of the “seriocomic.”10

While Branham's

characterization of Lucian as “seriocomic” is by no means inaccurate, it does not capture

the complex generic manipulation found in these texts, a significant part of which is

9 For a discussion of Aristophanes and his rivals, see Heath (1990), Sidwell (1993), Harvey and Wilkins

(2001), and Biles (2002). 10

See Branham (1989: 46). Branham here is quoting Terry Eagleton, The Function of Criticism, (1985:

19).

41

Lucian's imitation of the Aristophanic parabasis. In his discussion of Lucian‘s overall

style, for example, Branham asserts the following:

His [Lucian‘s] works are best approached as ―complex refinements and

recyclings of previous [literary] forms, borrowing a device here, polishing

or discarding a style there, artfully recombining elements from a number

of discrete sources.‖ The relative importance of any one form—Old

Comedy, Socratic dialogue, or Cynic diatribe or parody—is far less

significant than the fact that rhetorical strategies dependent on intricate

comic structures, particularly those of parody, were a conscious technique

of exoteric philosophical literature, as well as of dramatic comedy; thus it

was recognized in practice, if not in theory, that the power of humor to

alter our perceptions by exposing latent incongruities is a means of

generating critical thought from a new perspective.11

Branham‘s arguments regarding the fragmented philosophical role that humor can play

within Lucian‘s writings are well founded, but he discounts the significance that Lucian

himself places on how his work unites serious and comic genres, in particular that of Old

Comedy and Platonic dialogue. This is largely because, like Bakhtin before him, he

views Lucian‘s seriocomic style as derived mainly from Plato, Menippus, and the Cynics,

and though he notes the influence Old Comedy, its significance is discounted.12

While I

do not want to deny the serious role that philosophic humor can play, it is my contention

that the similarities between Lucian’s prologues and the Aristophanic parabasis bear

witness to the influence that the tradition of Old Comedy had on Lucian’s writings. His

claims to have joined Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue suggest that we should not

privilege one over the other, but instead regard it as a unified whole. As we will see in

the following section, Lucian signals this desire to his audience in the Heracles by

11

See Branham (1989: 56). 12

Recently scholars have suggested that despite Bakhtin‘s exclusion of Old Comedy from his formula of

carnival and the seriocomic, the genre possesses many of the characteristics he lays out. For the most

recent discussion of this see Platter (2007), as well as A. Edwards (1993).

42

describing for his audience a painting of a Celtic Heracles, an image that unites the

incongruous images of Greek and Barbarian and tempts us to regard it as analogous to

our author. This prologue will then set the stage for tackling his union of Old Comedy

with the serious genres of tragedy and philosophical dialogue in the Dionysus and

Literary Prometheus.

II. The Heracles

For the sophists of Lucian‘s day, a familiarity with the great works of Greek literature

was presupposed not only among the audiences of sophistic performances but also among

the viewers of the plastic arts.13

In the Heracles, Lucian describes for his audience a

painting of a ―Celtic Heracles‖ that is at odds with the traditional Greek portrayals of the

hero. This Heracles or Ogmios, as the Celts call him, is characterized not by physical

strength, courage, and sexual prowess, but by his old age and the power of his tongue

(Her. 2). Initially befuddled by such a representation of the hero, Lucian turns to a Celt

who explains that, unlike the Greeks, the Celts equate Heracles, not Hermes, with ιόγνο

and consequently portray him as old not young. This emphasis on old age is

subsequently mirrored in the dramatic context of the prologue itself. For as Lucian

reveals, the Heracles represents his return from retirement, which he had initially

hesitated to do until he remembered this Celtic image of Heracles.14

To further illustrate

13

Bowie (2007:32-33). For a discussion of Lucian‘s use of the plastic arts as a metaphor for his own

literary creation, see Romm (1990). 14

ἐκνὶ δὲ ἡλίθα πεξὶ ηῆο δεῦξν παξόδνπ ηαύηεο ἐζθνπνύκελ πξὸοἐκαπηόλ, εἴ κνη θαιῶο ἔρεη ηειηθῷδε ὄληη

θαὶ πάιαη ηῶλ ἐπηδείμεσλ πεπαπκέλῳ αὖζηο πὲξ ἐκαπηνῦ ςῆθνλ δηδόλαη ηνζνύηνηο δηθαζηαῖο, θαηὰ θαηξὸλ

ἐπῆιζελ ἀλακλεζζῆλαη ηῆο εἰθόλνο· (And when I was debating with myself on the question of appearing

here, considering whether it was proper for a man of my age, who had long ago given up lecturing in

43

his point that old age is not a disadvantage but an advantage, Lucian concludes the

prologue with a quotation from the Odyssey: ―νἵελ ἐθ ῥαθέσλ ὁ γέξσλ ἐπηγνπλίδα θαίλεη,

(Will you look at the knee that the old man reveals from his rage! Ody. 18.74). Taken

from the quarrel between the beggar Irus and the disguised Odysseus, this line was

originally spoken by one of the suitors as a warning to his fellow suitors not to fight with

Odysseus. Like the suitor, who recognizes from the disguised Odysseus‘ thighs that he is

not who he appears to be, this Homeric allusions serves as a warning to us that the Lucian

before us is not who he seems. Lucian thus equates himself and his work with the

disguised Odysseus, a point to which we will return at the end of the section. For now it

is enough to say that the original cautionary tone of the line carries over into Lucian‘s

prologue and serves as a warning to us as his audience not to discount the power of his

work.

Despite the prologue‘s conclusion, most scholars have taken this text at face

value, arguing that the Heracles is a later work intended to showcase the author‘s

rhetorical brilliance.15

More recently, Georgiadou and Larmour have suggested that the

painting of Heracles should be read as an allegory for Lucian himself:

The crux of the riddle of the painting in the Her. is the fact that the Celts

identify eloquence not with Hermes, as the Greeks do, but with Heracles.

The hero is shown as an old man, because eloquence shows its full vigour

in old age (cf. Dion. 7-8). This looks like a direct reference to Lucian

himself: the VH was probably written towards the end of his career. Other

old men remarkable for their eloquence are cited, such as Nestor.

Eloquence is Heracles‘ (and hence Lucian‘s) most effective weapon.16

public, once more to subject himself to the verdict of so large a jury, it chances in the nick of time that I

remembered the picture (Her. 7)). 15

See Branham (1985), Nesselrath (1990), and Georgiadou and Larmour (1995) and (1998b). 16

This argument is made in the course of their overall argument that the Heracles could have served as an

introduction to one of the books of the True Histories. Georgiadou and Larmour (1995:111).

44

Despite their suggestion that we read the painting as emblematic of Lucian, there has

been little in depth discussion of the specific imagery of the painting, the figure of the

Celt, and how this prologue relates to his overall literary project. Lucian‘s portrayal of

Heracles as a novel and foreign hero thus begs the question that if Georgiadou and

Larmour are right in identifying the figure of Heracles with Lucian, and I think they are,

what does this prologue reveal about Lucian‘s literary innovation?

The Heracles ostensibly expresses Lucian‘s concern about his rhetorical abilities

following his return from retirement. In this section, I will explore how Lucian uses the

Celtic painting of Heracles to characterize his approach to rhetoric as a novel blend of

incongruous images and themes. While I agree with Georgiadou and Larmour that

Lucian‘s description of Heracles evokes his own rhetorical performance, the structure of

the prologue does not immediately support this conclusion. As I will argue, Lucian

shapes the characters of the Celtic Heracles and the Celtic sophist in such a way that they

each initially appear to symbolize the author himself. Whereas the aged Heracles, who

leads his captives by his tongue, at first seems to be a metaphor for Lucian‘s own

rhetorical prowess, the Celtic sophist similarly evokes an image of our author through his

use of Homeric and Euripidean allusions to explain the meaning behind the painting.

Read as such, Lucian presents his audience with two figures, both potentially evocative

of himself, but each embodying a different view of rhetoric. While the painting of

Heracles depicts it as something strange and powerful, the figure of the Celt portrays a

more traditional image of a sophist. These images thus beg the question of which one, if

45

either, should we regard as representative of Lucian‘s own performance? I would like to

propose here that the Heracles can be read as signifying two different paths to achieving

rhetorical success and as such potentially plays with Xenophon‘s and later Dio‘s version

of Prodicus‘ ―Choice of Heracles.‖ As I will argue, the question of which figure is

representative of Lucian is not ultimately resolved until the final Homeric quotation,

which reveals Lucian‘s approach to in fact be a mixture of the two styles embodied by

Heracles and the Celt.

Before turning to Lucian‘s manipulation of the popular hero, we must first

contextualize Heracles in the Second Sophistic. Lucian‘s selection of Heracles directly

engages with a popular trend among Greek writers of this period of invoking Heracles as

a paragon of moral virtue at the same time as it speaks to Lucian‘s own fusion of literary

genres. For authors of this period, Heracles became a figure evocative of their own

specific ideals. In his life of Herodes Atticus, for example, Philostratus describes a

companion of Herodes called either Heracles or Agathion. Although not the hero per se,

this Heracles, not unlike Lucian‘s Heracles, is described as being as big as a Celt, as well

as wearing wolf-skins, and speaking in a pure Attic dialect:17

―ηὴλ δὲ δὴ γιῶηηαλ‖ ἔθε ὁ Ἡξώδεο ―πῶο ἐπαηδεύζεο θαὶ πὸ ηίλσλ; ν

γάξ κνη ηῶλ ἀπαηδεύησλ θαίλῃ.‖ θαὶ ὁ Ἀγαζίσλ ―ἡ κεζνγεία‖ ἔθε ―ηῆο

Ἀηηηθῆο ἀγαζὸ δηδαζθαιεῖνλ ἀλδξὶ βνπινκέλῳ δηαιέγεζζαη, νἱ κὲλ γὰξ ἐλ

ηῷ ἄζηεη Ἀζελαῖνη κηζζνῦ δερόκελνη Θξᾴθηα θαὶ Πνληηθὰ κεηξάθηα θαὶ ἐμ

ἄιισλ ἐζλῶλ βαξβάξσλ μπλεξξπεθόηα παξαθζείξνληαη παξ‘ αηῶλ ηὴλ

θσλὴλ κιινλ ἢ μπκβάιινληαί ηη αηνῖο ἐο εγισηηίαλ, ἡ κεζνγεία δὲ

ἄκηθηνο βαξβάξνηο νὖζα γηαίλεη αηνῖο ἡ θσλὴ θαὶ ἡ γιῶηηα ηὴλ ἄθξαλ

Ἀηζίδα ἀπνςάιιεη.‖

17

For discussions of Atticism during the Second Sophistic, see Swain (1996: 14-43).

46

―And what about your speech?‖ asked Herodes. ―How were you

educated, and by whom? For you do not seem to be an uneducated man.‖

Agathion replied, ―The interior of Attica educated me, a good school for a

man who wishes to be able to converse. For the Athenians in the city

admit as hirelings youths who come in like a flood from Thrace and the

Pontus and from other barbarian peoples, and their own speech

deteriorates from the influence of these barbarians to a greater extent than

they can contribute to the improvement of the speech of the newcomers.

But the central district is untainted by barbarians, and hence its language

remains uncorrupted and its dialect sounds the purest strain of Atthis.

(Lives of the Sophists 553)

As this passage indicates, this Heraclean figure represents a ―noble savage,‖ who is a

pure Greek, untainted by external influences.18

In addition to purity of Attic style, Heracles also symbolized physical strength and

consequently for authors of the Second Sophistic enacted the tension between manliness

and culture.19

As Connolly has shown, rhetoricians and sophists walked a fine line

between cultivating their paideia and not appearing overly effeminate. 20

To cite just one

example of this, Dio Chrysostom invokes Prodicus‘ ―Choice of Heracles‖ in his first

Kingship oration, which was purportedly performed in front of the Emperor Trajan. In

Xenophon‘s account, Heracles, who is on the verge of adolescence, is faced with a choice

between two paths for his life: one that leads to vice and one to virtue. While the path to

18

Anderson (2006: 128). 19

As Gleason notes, it was not unusual for the sophists of this period to adopt the voice of a historical or

mythological figure: ―Every veteran of sophistic training had extensive practice speaking the voice of

another—this was, after all, the essence of declamation—and those who aspired to the status of philosopher

were acutely conscious of the need to harmonize their self-presentation with the great paradigms of the

philosophic pantheon.‖ As examples of this, Gleason notes that Dio Chrysostom turned to such figures as

Diogenes, Socrates, and Odysseus, while Favorinus invoked Diogenes, Odysseus, and Heracles, (1994:

151). For a discussion of the effeminacy of Classical sophists, see Mossman (2007). 20

See Connolly (2003: 285-90) whose work I follow in the ensuing discussion. The figure of Heracles

appears in the first and fourth of Dio‘s Kingship orations, as well as his Isthmian oration. For Xenophon‘s

account of Prodicus‘ ―Choice of Heracles,‖ see Memorabilia 2.1.21-34. For Dio‘s account of the tale, see

Dio Orat. 1: 69-84.

47

vice is an easy one, that to virtue is much more difficult. In Dio‘s version, however, the

two paths are reversed and it is the path to virtue that is easy, perhaps implying that the

virtuous life comes with little difficulty to rulers such as Trajan. As Connolly explains in

her discussion of this speech, Heracles represented for Dio both ―the crudest kind of

physical strength‖ and ―the civilizer and moral arbiter of Greek and barbarian society.‖ 21

Like the Heracles in Philostratus‘ life of Herodes Atticus, Dio‘s Heracles is a decidedly

Greek figure that ―expresses an ideal kind of andreia that acts in the service of

civilization and right thinking.‖ 22

Lucian‘s portrayal of Heracles, however, lacks the

moral aspects of Dio‘s hero, but, not unlike Herodes‘ companion, is Celtic and a symbol

of eloquence. In selecting Heracles as his subject matter, Lucian recasts a standard figure

from Greek mythology and, more importantly for our discussion, one that was

particularly relevant to his contemporary sophists.23

In addition to what it reveals about how Lucian differentiates himself from his

contemporaries, Lucian‘s Heracles embodies his fusion of opposing genres. In her

analysis of the play of genres found in the Pseudo-Lucian Amores, Mossman argues that

the figure of Heracles invokes the type of generic interplay she sees throughout that text:

―Heracles has an unusual status as a character who features in many contradictory literary

genres, not only serious epic, lyric, and tragedy, but also in comedy and indeed

philosophy.‖24

Yet in Dio‘s and Philostratus‘ representations of the hero discussed

21

Connolly (2003:309). 22

Connolly (2003:309). 23

It should also be noted that Lucian‘s contemporary, Aelius Aristides, wrote a prose hymn dedicated to

Heracles in which he likewise extols the hero‘s manly courage. See Aristides Orat. XL. In addition to this,

Plutarch may have also written a life of Heracles that has been lost. See Lamberton (2001:23). 24

Mossman (2007: 148).

48

above, Heracles‘ comic side is notably absent. As Kirkpatrick and Dunn note, within the

realm of Classical Greek drama, Heracles appears most often in comedies or satyr plays

that exploited certain episodes of his mythology, in particular his enslavement by

Omphale or his encounter with the Cercopes.25

Such portrayals reveal a lighter side to

the hero, who is depicted as dressed in women‘s clothing or suffering the mockery of the

Cercopes for having thick, black hair on his buttocks. In Lucian‘s representation of

Heracles, he is a figure that is surprisingly old, barbarian, and a symbol of eloquence not

strength. Like the earlier comic portrayals of the hero, Lucian‘s appears to subvert the

contemporary view of Heracles as a serious symbol of manliness and Greek culture.

As a figure that is described as both old and a barbarian, this portrait of Heracles

presents immediate similarities with Lucian himself that encourage us as his audience to

view it as a metaphor for the rhetorical performance that this text may have introduced. In

his description of the painting, Lucian‘s emphasizes how this Heracles does not conform

to the Heracles of Greek mythology, and it is through the divergences from the standard

image of the hero that we get a sense of Lucian‘s innovation.26

Besides his age and

nationality, this Heracles is bald and has dark sunburned skin similar to that of an old

sailor (νἱ ζαιαηηνπξγνὶ γέξνληεο).27

The darkness of Heracles‘ skin inspires Lucian to

25

For a discussion of the comic versions of Heracles‘ enslavement by Omphale, see Kirkpatrick and Dunn

(2002: 41). For a discussion of Heracles‘ encounter with the Cercopes, see Rosen (2007: 58-9). 26

―Σὸλ Ἡξαθιέα νἱ Κειηνὶ Ὄγκηνλ ὀλνκάδνπζη θσλῇ ηῇ ἐπηρσξίῳ, ηὸ δὲ εἶδνο ηνῦ ζενῦ πάλπ ἀιιόθνηνλ

γξάθνπζη.‖26

(The Celts call Heracles Ogmios in their native tongue and they paint the god‘s form in a very

strange way, Her. 1). 27

―γέξσλ ἐζηὶλ αηνῖο ἐο ηὸ ἔζραηνλ, ἀλαθαιαληίαο, πνιηὸο ἀθξηβῶο ὅζαη ινηπαὶ ηῶλ ηξηρῶλ, ῥπζὸο ηὸ

δέξκα θαὶ δηαθεθαπκέλνο ἐο ηὸ κειάληαηνλ νἷνί εἰζηλ νἱ ζαιαηηνπξγνὶ γέξνληεο·‖ (In their minds he is very

old, bald, except for a few remaining hairs that are very grey, his skin is wrinkled, and he is sunburned to

the point of being black, similar to that of an old sailor, Her. 1).

49

comment that this Heracles is more similar to Charon or an underworld Iapetus than

Heracles (κιινλ δὲ Υάξσλα ἢ Ἰαπεηόλ ηηλα ηῶλ πνηαξηαξίσλ θαὶ πάληα κιινλ ἢ

Ἡξαθιέα εἶλαη ἂλ εἰθάζεηαο, Her. 1). Given the hero‘s connection to Hades as both a

visitor and an inhabitant whom Odysseus meets in book eleven of the Odyssey, Lucian

here attempts to familiarize the strangely dark Heracles by describing him as belonging in

the underworld. 28

Despite looking nothing like the familiar representations of the hero, Lucian

explains to his audience that he was able to recognize it as a painting of Heracles through

the inclusion of the traditional iconography of the lion skin, club, and quiver (Her.1).

The impression of the painting given thus far is one of a figure that is dressed up like

Heracles, and as such recalls the opening of the Aristophanes‘ Frogs and Heracles‘

laughter upon seeing Dionysus dressed like him (45-8). Lucian‘s creation of a surprising

image out of the familiar trappings of a barbarian and Heracles has at its heart a comic

scenario, further reinforcing the sense that Lucian‘s praise for this barbarian Heracles is

parodying the more serious interpretations of the hero as an ideal of Greek culture.

According to Billaut‘s characterization of this prologue, the Heracles ―develops

according to a genuine plot which consists of a series of revelations.‖29

As I will suggest,

Lucian‘s ―series of revelations‖ allows him to shape his audience‘s response to the

painting and ultimately to his own rhetorical performance.

The image of Heracles drawn thus far is one that unites the familiar with the

28

In Euripides‘ Alcestis, for example. Heracles journeys to the underworld to return Alcestis to her

husband. In addition to this, at the opening of Aristophanes‘ Frogs, Dionysus goes down to the underworld

dressed as Heracles. For Odysseus‘ encounter with Heracles, see Ody.11.601-25. 29

Billaut (2006: 51).

50

unfamiliar and we can begin to see how this might be applicable to Lucian‘s own literary

style. In his focus on the oddity of the image, Lucian recreates for his audience his

experience of seeing it for the first time. Lucian thus guides his audience‘s response to it

not only through his description of the painting but his own reaction as well. For as he

admits to his audience, he initially believed that the painting was intended as an insult to

the hero:

ᾤκελ νὖλ ἐθ‘ ὕβξεη ηῶλ ιιελίσλ ζεῶλ ηνηαῦηα παξαλνκεῖλ ηνὺο

Κειηνὺο ἐο ηὴλ κνξθὴλ ηὴλ Ἡξαθιένπο ἀκπλνκέλνπο αηὸλ ηῇ γξαθῇ, ὅηη

ηὴλ ρώξαλ πνηὲ αηῶλ ἐπῆιζελ ιείαλ ἐιαύλσλ, ὁπόηε ηὰο Γεξπόλνπ

ἀγέιαο δεηῶλ θαηέδξακε ηὰ πνιιὰ ηῶλ ἑζπεξίσλ γελῶλ.

I thought, therefore, that the Celts had committed this offence against the

good-looks of Heracles to spite the Greek gods, and that they were

punishing him through the picture for having once visited their country on

a cattle-lifting foray, at the time when he raided most of the western

nations in his quest of the herds of Geryon. (Her. 2-3)

As this passage indicates, Lucian first attempted to interpret the painting based on what

he knows about the hero from Greek mythology, and this perspective presumably mirrors

that of the audience who is hearing the painting described to them for the first time.

According to Georgiadou and Larmour, Lucian ―defamiliarizes‖ Heracles in this

prologue and ―engages the reader in the process both of interpreting the painting and of

reinterpreting traditional representations of Heracles.‖30

While I agree that Lucian‘s

emphasis on the peculiarity of the image incites the audience to think not only about the

painting but also about what they know of Heracles, it is my contention that Lucian draws

a comparison here between the Heracles of the painting and that of Greek mythology not

30

Georgiadou and Larmour (1998b: 5).

51

to expand the audiences‘ understanding of the hero per se but rather of Lucian‘s own

work. If we take the painting as a potential metaphor for Lucian‘s own rhetorical

performance, the image of Lucian‘s rhetoric presented thus far is as something strange

and foreign yet with a few familiar trappings, i.e. Heracles‘ lion skin and club. Read as

such, this extended ekphrasis potentially reflects how Lucian imagines he must appear to

an audience viewing him for the first time. As I continue my analysis of Lucian‘s

description of the painting, I will focus my attention on how the progressive peculiarities

reflect Lucian‘s own rhetorical performance. I will argue that such images lead us to

ultimately reject the painting as a metaphor for Lucian‘s rhetorical style in favor of an

image of rhetoric that is a mixture of traditional and novel features.

The oddity of Lucian‘s ―Celtic Heracles‖ lies primarily in the imagery associated

with him. As Lucian continues his description, each feature of the painting is described as

more peculiar than the last as the following passage demonstrates:

θαίηνη ηὸ παξαδνμόηαηνλ νδέπσ ἔθελ ηῆο εἰθόλνο· ὁ γὰξ δὴ γέξσλ

Ἡξαθιῆο ἐθεῖλνο ἀλζξώπσλ πάκπνιύ ηη πιῆζνο ἕιθεη ἐθ ηῶλ ὤησλ

ἅπαληαο δεδεκέλνπο. δεζκὰ δέ εἰζηλ νἱ ζεηξαὶ ιεπηαὶ ρξπζνῦ θαὶ ἠιέθηξνπ

εἰξγαζκέλαη ὅξκνηο ἐνηθπῖαη ηνῖο θαιιίζηνηο.

But I have not yet mentioned the most surprising thing in the picture. That

old Heracles of theirs drags after him a great crowd of men who are all

tethered by the ears! His bonds are delicate chains of gold and amber,

resembling the prettiest of necklaces. (Her. 3)

Lucian‘s description of the gold and amber bonds combines imagery that evokes

something fine or delicate with the more martial imagery of a group of captives. While

this account of Heracles‘ captives engages, on the one hand, with the contemporary

interpretation of the hero as symbol of manliness, Lucian‘s description of the bonds as

52

made of gold and amber suggests that the beauty of Heracles‘ eloquence, and for that

matter potentially Lucian‘s as well, conceals a power to enslave the audience.

According to Lucian, however, Heracles‘ words do not simply enslave the group

of men following him; they make them actually desire their captivity:

θαὶ ὅκσο θ‘ νὕησο ἀζζελῶλ ἀγόκελνη νὔηε δξαζκὸλ βνπιεύνπζη,

δπλάκελνη ἂλ εκαξῶο, νὔηε ὅισο ἀληηηείλνπζηλ ἢ ηνῖο πνζὶλ

ἀληεξείδνπζη πξὸο ηὸ ἐλαληίνλ ηῆο ἀγσγῆο ἐμππηηάδνληεο, ἀιιὰ θαηδξνὶ

ἕπνληαη θαὶ γεγεζόηεο θαὶ ηὸλ ἄγνληα ἐπαηλνῦληεο, ἐπεηγόκελνη ζόηεο θαὶ

ηὸλ ἄγνληα ἐπαηλνῦληεο, ἐπεηγόκελνη ἅπαληεο θαὶ ηῷ θζάλεηλ ἐζέιεηλ ηὸλ

δεζκὸλ ἐπηραιῶληεο, ἐνηθόηεο ἀρζεζζεζνκέλνηο εἰ ιπζήζνληαη.

Yet, though led by bonds so weak, the men do not think of escaping, as

they easily could, and they do not pull back at all or brace their feet and

lean in the opposite direction to that in which he is leading them. In fact,

they follow cheerfully and joyfully, applauding their leader and all

pressing him close and keeping the leashes slack in their desire to overtake

him; apparently they would be offended if they were let loose! (Her. 3)

Thus far our discussion of the Heracles has focused on a moment of ekphrasis, a

rhetorical trope that, as Whitmarsh defines it, is ―an evocative description designed to

make the reader or listener experience the phenomena described as though actually

present.‖31

Lucian, however, takes this technique a step further and places his audience

into the mindset of Heracles‘ captives, who, apparently ignorant of their captivity, strive

to be closer to their captor. To an audience listening to Lucian‘s description, Heracles‘

captives begin to look analogous to their own position as Lucian‘s audience. Read as a

potential metaphor for Lucian and the rhetorical performance he is engaged in, this image

suggests that Lucian‘s eloquence has the power to captivate his audience to the point of

31

Whitmarsh (2002: 112).

53

obsession. Lucian here appears to tease his audience that not only will he win them over,

but he will also turn them into truly devoted fans.

As Lucian reveals to his audience, this Heracles‘ power lies in his tongue:

ὃ δὲ πάλησλ ἀηνπώηαηνλ εἶλαί κνη ἔδνμελ, νθ ὀθλήζσ θαὶ ηνῦην εἰπεῖλ·

ν γὰξ ἔρσλ ὁ δσγξάθνο ὅζελ ἐμάςεηε ηαῖο ζεηξαῖο ηὰο ἀξράο,ἅηε ηῆο

δεμηο κὲλ ἤδε ηὸ ῥόπαινλ, ηῆο ιαηο δὲ ηὸ ηόμνλ ἐρνύζεο, ηξππήζαο ηνῦ

ζενῦ ηὴλ γιῶηηαλ ἄθξαλ ἐμ ἐθείλεο ἑιθνκέλνπο αηνὺο ἐπνίεζελ, θαὶ

ἐπέζηξαπηαί γε εἰο ηνὺο ἀγνκέλνπο κεηδηῶλ.

But let me tell you without delay what seemed to me the strangest thing of

all. Since the painter had no place where he could attach the ends of the

chains, as the god‘s right hand already held the club and his left the bow,

he pierced the tip of his tongue and represented him drawing the men by

that means! Moreover, he has his face turned toward his captives, and is

smiling. (Her. 3)

Although Lucian will go on to describe how he was initially confused by this painting, its

imagery is not subtle, and the fact that Heracles leads his captives by his tongue confirms

Georgiadou and Larmour‘s interpretation of the painting as an allegory for eloquence.32

The image of eloquence presented here, however, is mysterious and foreign, and Lucian

heightens this mysteriousness by describing in the final lines of his account how Heracles

is smiling at his captives, (ἐπέζηξαπηαί γε εἰο ηνὺο ἀγνκέλνπο κεηδηῶλ). Though the

portrayal of Heracles as old and a barbarian lacks a clear precedent in the comic tradition,

this final image suggests a mocking tone to the painting. For an audience that recognizes

Lucian in the figure of Heracles and themselves in his captives, this painting represents

Lucian‘s boast that not only will he captivate them with his words but he will also mock

them should they follow him heedlessly.

32

Georgiadou and Larmour (1998b: 5).

54

To sum up our discussion of the painting, as I mentioned above, Georgiadou and

Larmour have suggested that this painting symbolizes Lucian‘s rhetoric and its imagery

would initially seem to support this interpretation. Like the Celtic Heracles, Lucian‘s

status as an eastern sophist in the Greek world makes him similarly foreign and as he

reveals at the end of the prologue, he is likewise an old man.33

Furthermore, the final

image of Heracles smiling over his captives evokes Lucian‘s own satiric mockery. Yet if

we accept Branham‘s view that Lucian‘s prologues serve as important introductions to

Lucian‘s style of writing, what does the Heracles reveal about Lucian‘s craft?34

Read as

a foil for Lucian, this painting characterizes his rhetorical approach as one that reinvents

traditional subject matter in such a way that it is almost unrecognizable to a Greek

audience. For though it depicts a Greek hero, this painting represents a barbarian

reinterpretation of that hero and as such has little connection to the Greek literary

tradition. While certain aspects of this painting recall our author, it is my contention that

it is not until the end of the prologue and the final Homeric quotation that Lucian reveals

his rhetorical style to be equally grounded within the literary tradition.

As Lucian concludes his account of the painting, he summarizes his initial

reaction to it in the following statement: ―Σαῦη‘ ἐγὼ κὲλ ἐπὶ πνιὺ εἱζηήθεηλ ὁξῶλ θαὶ

ζαπκάδσλ θαὶ ἀπνξῶλ θαὶ ἀγαλαθηῶλ·‖ (I had stood for a long time looking at it,

wondering, feeling at a loss, and getting annoyed, Her. 4). Lucian‘s annoyance upon

seeing the painting is striking and perhaps intended to mirror the potential reaction of his

33

One prominent example of Lucian‘s self-characterization as Syrian appears in the Twice Accused, in

which Lucian entitles his persona ΤΡΟ , a characterization that is confirmed by Rhetoric‘s reference to

Lucian‘s Ἀζζύξηνλ ηξόπνλ (27). 34

Branham (1985: 237).

55

own audience. Although the question of how to react to a work of art is not specifically

addressed in this prologue, Lucian discusses this issue in another of his works, On the

Hall. 35

Comprised of two speeches, On the Hall debates whether it is beneficial to

deliver a speech among beautiful surroundings with the first speaker arguing for its

merits and the second against them.36

As Newby has pointed out, the first speaker uses

the visual beauty of the hall to ―evoke desire‖ among his listeners, a desire that must

itself be articulated in words. ―The latter precept is particularly aimed at a certain section

of the viewing public—the educated pepaideumenoi—for whom, we later find, it is

shameful not to give some verbal response since it suggests that they have been

overpowered by sight.‖37

In the Heracles, then, we may surmise that Lucian‘s earlier

frustration at the painting is thus not directed at the image per se but at his initial inability

to respond to it. Lucian‘s acknowledgment of his initial frustration, a perspective

potentially analogous to the audience‘s own experience with Lucian‘s prologue, connects

him to his audience and, thus, allows them to undergo the same process of enlightenment

that he is about to depict himself as experiencing.

Lucian‘s ironic pose of frustration, however, is short lived as an unnamed Celt

steps in to explain the painting to him. As Lucian describes the Celt, he emphasizes the

Celt‘s Greekness in spite of his actual ethnicity:

Κειηὸο δέ ηηο παξεζηὼο νθ ἀπαίδεπηνο ηὰ ἡκέηεξα, ὡο ἔδεημελ ἀθξηβῶο

35

As Anderson has noted, Lucian employs ekphrasis in several of his prologues (1977: 314). While

Anderson (1977), Branham (1985), and Nesselrath (1990) do not include On the Hall in their discussions of

Lucian‘s prologues, Newby (2002) labels it as such. 36

For a discussion of the role that ekphrasis plays in On the Hall, see Newby (2002) whose work I follow

here. 37

Newby (2002: 128).

56

ιιάδα θσλὴλ ἀθηείο, θηιόζνθνο, νἶκαη, ηὰ ἐπηρώξηα, γώ ζνη, ἔθε, ὦ

μέλε, ιύζσ ηῆο γξαθῆο ηὸ αἴληγκα, άλπ γὰξ ηαξαηηνκέλῳ

ἔνηθαο πξὸο αηήλ.

A certain Celt who was present and not unlearned in our culture, as he

showed by his fluency in the Greek language, a philosopher, I think, of our

customs, said: ―I will explain the riddle of the painting, stranger, since you

seem to be very troubled by it. (Her. 4)

While Heracles‘ age, barbarian status, and grin initially implied a connection to Lucian,

the fact that the Celt is decidedly not Greek, yet possesses paideia, is fluent in Greek, and

has philosophical interests (θηιόζνθνο ηὰ ἐπηρώξηα) indicates the he is another potential

foil for our author. Yet, unlike the novelty of Heracles, these same features cast the Celt

in the familiar mold of a sophist. 38

As a potential foil for Lucian, the Celt symbolizes a

more traditional path to rhetorical success than that of Heracles. By creating another

image evocative of himself, Lucian presents his audience with a choice of two different

rhetorical approaches with which to associate him: one that is strange and novel or one

that is more traditional. As I will argue, Lucian characterizes the Celt‘s approach to

rhetoric as flawed and easily rejected. Read as such, it is the painting of Heracles that

represents a better, though not exact, foil for the author.

According to the Celt, the apparent strangeness of the painting can be explained

by the fact that the Celtic view of Heracles differs from that of the Greeks in one key

respect:

ηὸλ ιόγνλ ἡκεῖο νἱ Κειηνὶ νρ ὥζπεξ κεῖο νἱ Ἕιιελεο ξκῆλ νἰόκεζα

εἶλαη, ἀιι‘ Ἡξαθιεῖ αηὸλ εἰθάδνκελ, ὅηη παξὰ πνιὺ ηνῦ ξκνῦ

ἰζρπξόηεξνο νὗηνο. εἰ δὲ γέξσλ πεπνίεηαη, κὴ ζαπκάζῃο· κόλνο γὰξ ὁ

ιόγνο ἐλ γήξᾳ θηιεῖ ἐληειῆ ἐπηδείθλπζζαη ηὴλ ἀθκήλ, εἴ γε ἀιεζῆ κῶλ νἱ

38

For discussions of what meant to be a sophist, see Swain (1996: 17-101) and Whitmarsh (2001: 41-133).

57

πνηεηαὶ ιέγνπζηλ, ὅηη αἱ κὲλ ηῶλ ὁπινηέξσλ θξέλεο ἠεξέζνληαη, ηὸ δὲ

γῆξαο ἔρεη ηη ιέμαη ηῶλ λέσλ ζνθώηεξνλ.

We Celts do not agree with you Greeks in thinking that Hermes is

Eloquence: we identify Heracles with it, because he is far more powerful

than Hermes. And don‘t be surprised that he is represented as an old man,

for eloquence and eloquence alone is wont to show its full vigor in old

age, if your poets are right in saying ‗A young man has a wandering mind‘

and ‗Old age has wiser words to say than youth. (Her. 4)39

As this passage suggests, the fact that the Celts equate Heracles, not Hermes, with ιόγνο

is the crux of the painting and the source of Lucian‘s confusion. As Fowden explains in

his discussion of Hermes Trismegistus, the connection between Hermes and ιόγνο is a

Hellenistic development, stemming from his reputation for being an inventive trickster

and his role as the messenger of the gods. 40

By connecting a painting of Heracles with

ιόγνο, Lucian here hints at the power that ιόγνο can have over the plastic arts.

While the Celt‘s reference to this specific tradition initially seems to shed light on

the connection between Heracles and rhetoric, his explanation does not address the

complex imagery found throughout the painting. Instead, it appears designed to

showcase his paideia, a characterization that is furthered through the Celt‘s use of

quotations from Greek poets to support his arguments. As he continues his explanation,

he argues that eloquence in fact increases with age:

εἴ γε ἀιεζῆ κῶλ νἱ πνηεηαὶ ιέγνπζηλ, ὅηη αἱ κὲλ ηῶλ ὁπινηέξσλ θξέλεο

ἠεξέζνληαη, ηὸ δὲ γῆξαο ἔρεη ηη ιέμαη ηῶλ λέσλ ζνθώηεξνλ. νὕησ γέ ην θαὶ

ηνῦ Νέζηνξνο κῖλ ἀπνξξεῖ ἐθ ηῆο γιώηηεο ηὸ κέιη, θαὶ νἱ ἀγνξεηαὶ ηῶλ

Σξώσλ ηὴλ ὄπα ἀθηζηλ εαλζῆ ηηλα· ιείξηα γὰξ θαιεῖηαη, εἴ γε κέκλεκαη,

39

The two poetic quotations found in the passage are drawn from Homer Iliad 3.108 and Euripides Phoen.

530 respectively. 40

As Fowden notes, the Stoics took this association with ιόγνο a step further, assigning Hermes an

important function in their theology, expanding it from a creative and expressive one to viewing him as

ιόγνο itself and a demiurge, (1986: 23-4).

58

ηὰ ἄλζε.

If your poets are right in saying ‗A young man hath a wandering wit‘ and

‗Old age has wiser words to say than you.‘ That is why your Nestor‘s

tongue distils honey, and why the Trojan counselors have a voice like

flowers (the flowers mentioned are lilies, if my memory serves. (Her. 4-

5)41

The Celt here seamlessly strings together four allusions to emphasize his point and, as if

these allusions were not enough to showcase his paideia, he goes so far as to remind

Lucian what types of flowers Homer used to describe the voice of the Trojan counselors.

While his initial explanation that the Celts equate Heracles, not Hermes, with ιόγνο may

have begun to elucidate the image, he here appears more interested in showcasing his

own knowledge than exploring the details of the painting. This, however, is not what in

the end makes his approach to rhetoric problematic, rather, as Lucian demonstrates in the

conclusion of this prologue, it is the ease with which an enemy of Lucian‘s could rebut

the Celt‘s Homer-based arguments.

As Lucian concludes this prologue, he ceases to discuss his experience in Gaul

and begins to imagine what his would-be detractors might say to him now that he has

returned from retirement to the stage. Like the figure of the Celt, Lucian‘s detractors

invoke Homer to argue that eloquence is at its fullest not in old age but in youth:

ηέσο κὲλ γὰξ ἐδεδίεηλ, κή ηηλη κῶλ δόμαηκη θνκηδῇ κεηξαθηώδε ηαῦηα

πνηεῖλ θαὶ παξ‘ ἡιηθίαλ λεαληεύεζζαη, θᾆηά ηηο Ὁκεξηθὸο λεαλίζθνο

ἐπηπιήμεηέλ κνη εἰπὼλ ηὸ ζὴ δὲ βίε ιέιπηαη, θαὶ ραιεπὸλ γῆξαο θαηείιεθέ

ζε, ἠπεδαλὸο δέ λύ ηνηζεξάπσλ, βξαδέεο δέ ηνη ἵππνη, ἐο ηνὺο πόδαο ηνῦην

ἀπνζθώπησλ. ἀιι‘ ὅηαλ ἀλακλεζζῶ ηνῦ γέξνληνο ἐθείλνπ Ἡξαθιένπο,

πάληα πνηεῖλ πξνάγνκαη θαὶ νθ αἰδνῦκαη ηνηαῦηα ηνικῶλ ἡιηθηώηεο ὢλ

ηῆο εἰθόλνο

41

The lines quoted are respectively Iliad 3.108, Eur. Phoen. 530, Iliad 1.249, and Iliad 3.152.

59

Until then I had been afraid that some of you might think I was doing an

altogether boyish thing and at my age showing the rashness of youth; and

that then some young fellow full of Homer might rebuke me by saying

―Your strength is gone‖ and ―Bitter old age has you in his clutch‖ and

―Your squire is feeble and your steeds are slow,‖ aiming the last quip at

my feet. But when I remember that old Heracles, I am moved to undertake

anything, and am not ashamed to be so bold since I am no older than the

picture. (Her. 7)

By lending a voice to his would-be detractors here, Lucian demonstrates that the problem

of turning solely to the poetic tradition as support for your argument is that someone can

easily cite a contradictory passage. The Celt and his detractors thus appear to be playing

the same rhetorical game. Read as such, it becomes clear that this approach to rhetoric

will not help his audience understand the painting of Heracles and consequently does not

represent Lucian‘s style of rhetoric.

As the prologue draws to a close, Lucian further reinforces this point by trumping

the Homeric arguments of the Celt and his detractors with a comparison between himself

and Odysseus:

Ὁξᾶο ὅπσο παξακπζνῦκαη ηὴλ ἡιηθίαλ θαὶ ηὸ γῆξαο ηὸ ἐκαπηνῦ. θαὶ δηὰ

ηνῦην ἐηόικεζα πάιαη λελεσιθεκέλνλ ηὸ ἀθάηηνλ θαηαζπάζαο θαὶ ἐθ ηῶλ

ἐλόλησλ ἐπηζθεπάζαο αὖζηο ἀθεῖλαη ἐο κέζνλ ηὸ πέιαγνο. εἴε δ‘, ὦ ζενί,

θαὶ ηὰ παξ‘ κῶλ ἐκπλεῦζαη δεμηά, ὡο λῦλ γε κάιηζηα πιεζηζηίνπ ηε θαὶ

ἐζζινῦ ἑηαίξνπ ἀλέκνπ δεόκεζα, ἵλα, εἰ ἄμηνη θαηλνίκεζα, θαὶ ἡκῖλ ηὸ

Ὁκεξηθὸλ ἐθεῖλν ἐπηθζέγμεηαί ηίο,

νἵελ ἐθ ῥαθέσλ ὁ γέξσλ ἐπηγνπλίδα θαίλεη.

You see what encouragement I apply to my age and my infirmities. This

is what gave me heart to drag my ship, long ago laid up, to the water,

provision her as best I could and set sail on the high seas once more. Be it

your part, gods, to blow me fair if ever do I need a breeze ―that fills the

sail, a good companion.‖ If anyone thinks me worthy, I would have him

apply to me the words of Homer:

―Will you look at the thigh on that man!‖

60

The characterization of himself as an old sailor calls to mind the opening of the speech

and his description of Heracles as similar to νἱ ζαιαηηνπξγνὶ γέξνληεο. As this

connection suggests, Lucian intends his audience to go back and reconsider his painting

of Heracles in light of this final Homeric comparison. Lucian here unites the familiar

Odysseus with an unfamiliar Heracles and in so doing rebuts the arguments of his

detractors. This final analogy between Lucian and Odysseus reveals Lucian‘s rhetorical

approach in all its complexity. Although there are clear affinities between the novelty of

the painting and Lucian himself, Lucian‘s choice to conclude the prologue with a

Homeric quotation indicates that his craft is also deeply indebted to the more traditional

approaches. This prologue would thus seem to suggest that Lucian‘s problem is

ultimately with the choice between novelty and tradition, since individually each

approach has the potential to leave one open to criticism from one‘s competitors. As this

prologue suggests, it is Lucian‘s clever manipulation of the tradition, rather than a slavish

following, that gives his case for returning from retirement added strength. Unlike his

detractors who begin to look more and more like Heracles‘ captives, Lucian does not

merely quote the great authors of literary past but uses them to create something new and

unique.

Moreover, the final Homeric quotation also illustrates for Lucian‘ audience how

they can avoid becoming like Heracles‘ captives. Taken from a moment in book 18, in

which Odysseus, on the verge of fighting Irus, reveals his true heroic nature in the form

of his thigh, this line warns Lucian‘s audience to not be like the Celt and Lucian‘s

detractors, who judged the painting and Lucian respectively by what they saw on the

61

surface. Lucian here reveals to his audience that the way in which they protect

themselves from becoming Heracles‘ captives (or, in other words, Lucian‘s) is to actively

engage with and question what Lucian is about to present them. As I have already

mentioned, the Heracles is generally accepted to be a later work of Lucian. Though I do

not want to enter into a debate about the chronology of his writings, I would like to

suggest that we need not read Lucian‘s reference to age so literally. By characterizing

himself as old in this text, Lucian indicates that while on the surface he may appear

weaker or inferior to those around him, the true strength of his work lies hidden beneath

the surface.

Unlike the Celt and the unnamed detractors, Lucian focuses on a strange and

novel topic yet presents it in the traditional format of ekphrasis. He appears proud of his

innovation and the fact that he is not the slavish follower of tradition that his detractors

are. In the choice between literary innovation and filling the standard mold of a sophist,

Lucian here picks innovation with a traditional twist. As I will suggest in my discussion

of the Dionysus and the Literary Prometheus, Lucian‘s insistence that his audience notice

the traditional nature of his writing style is not simply referring to his ability to speak in

pure Attic Greek or use obscure literary quotations. Instead, as I will argue, he is

asserting that his work directly engages with the Greek literary canon, in particular Plato

and Aristophanes, and as such should be viewed as a continuation of those traditions.

As Lucian teases his audience at the end of the Heracles, his work contains a

hidden strength, one that could take them captive if they are not careful. Since Lucian

cannot physically capture his audience like the Heracles of the painting and would in fact

62

presumably want to enthrall them with his speech, this boast serves a moment of self-

referential humor that appears to mock Lucian‘s apparent lack of self-confidence. On a

more serious note, however, the final image of Odysseus also exhorts the audience to be a

careful audience, or in our case, to be careful readers. To fully understand Lucian we

must look beyond the surface of the text and examine such features as the literary sources

he invokes and how he manipulates them to fit his purpose. This concern that his

audience properly appreciates his work is a common theme of his prologues and one that

I will continue to explore in my discussion of the Dionysus. In that text, Lucian‘s anxiety

regarding his age has been replaced with a concern that the comic features of his work are

causing audiences to overlook and scorn him. While scholars such as Branham have

pointed to this prologue as proof of the central role that laughter and comedy plays in

Lucian‘s works, I would like to suggest that it also illustrates the complex view of the

way in which he melds the comic and the serious. While he does not refer to specific

genres, the way in which he characterizes his literary approach in this text sets the stage

for his union of Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue.

III. The Dionysus

Typically regarded as a pair of texts, the Dionysus and the Heracles both invoke

mythological figures as vehicles for discussing the role that innovation plays in Lucian‘s

texts.42

Like Heracles, the figure of Dionysus spans multiple genres, in particular tragedy

42

The Heracles and the Dionysus are often read in tandem with one another based on arguments that these

prologues served as introductions to the True Histories. For the most recent arguments about the

63

and comedy, two genres that will be especially relevant to this discussion of the prologue.

Whereas we saw Lucian embracing the novelty of his literary creation in the Heracles,

the Dionysus portrays Lucian as concerned that the comic features of his work have led

audiences to disregard them as mere trifles similar to the views we saw expressed in the

introduction. To combat this, Lucian relates to his current audience two tales designed to

instruct them in the finer points of his literary style. Though initially connected only by

their Dionysiac theme, these tales demonstrate Lucian‘s ability to recast traditionally

serious topics in a comic light and thus to engage directly with the issue of uniting the

seemingly opposing literary genres.

In the first, Lucian describes for his audience Dionysus‘ invasion of India and the

Indians‘ subsequent reaction to him. Upon first seeing the god, the Indians make the fatal

mistake of laughing at Dionysus‘ band of Bacchants and Satyrs. As Lucian explains, the

Indians‘ reaction to Dionysus is analogous to that of previous audiences who have

scorned his work for its comic (θσκηθά) and strange (παξαδόμνο) features. Lucian‘s first

tale thus appears designed to warn his audience not to dismiss him because of the comic

nature of his writing style. In contrast to these sharp warnings, Lucian‘s second tale

describes a spring dedicated to Silenus and the miraculous effects it has over the old men

who drink from it. Unlike the first tale, however, Lucian offers no explanation and, as

Nesselrath notes, this second tale is attested nowhere else in Greek and Roman

connection of these prologues with the True Histories, see Georgiadou and Larmour (1995). In addition to

this, Lucian refers in both texts to his advanced age.

64

literature.43

What then is Lucian‘s purpose in telling this tale? And what can it reveal,

when read alongside the first, about Lucian‘s union of serious and comic genres?

Lucian‘s explanation for Dionysus‘ invasion of India, however, has meant that

these questions are largely unanswered due to the fact that it reveals key components

about his literary project. In his analysis of this prologue, Branham argues that the

Dionysus is ―the only prologue in which the κῦζνο is told to explicate the function of

comedy and novelty in his works.‖ 44

For Branham, the initial tale of the Dionysus

illustrates for Lucian‘s audience the serious purpose that comedy and laughter can have

or, put differently, Lucian‘s seriocomic style. As I discussed in the introduction,

Branham‘s definition of Lucian‘s writings as seriocomic is based largely on Bakhtin‘s

account of this genre, in particular his location of its origins in the Socratic dialogue and

Menippean satire. Yet in this prologue and in other texts as well, Lucian draws our

attention to the influence of Old Comedy on his writings. Branham‘s approach, while

fruitful, consequently privileges Lucian‘s philosophical sources over the comedic ones

and thus simplifies the generic interplay found within this text and others.45

Although I

do not ultimately disagree with his interpretation of the Dionysus as depicting in

miniature Lucian‘s literary style, I believe that we can profitably expand this paradigm to

include not only the serious role that laughter plays in this text but also the way in which

43

Nesselrath (1990: 138). 44

Branham (1985: 241). As Branham points out, Lucian often uses words related to paideia to refer to his

ideal audience, (1985: 238 n.5). In reference to the presumed audience of this piece, Nesselrath notes that

―Lucian seems to address this piece to people he has already visited in earlier times; in fact, he tries to

reawaken reminiscences of those times and promise to live up to his former standards,‖ (1990: 135). 45

Scholars, however, have taken up and challenged Bakhtin‘s exclusion of Aristophanes from his

discussion of the history of laughter and more specifically seriocomic literature See A. Edwards (1993), as

well as Platter (2001), and (2007).

65

Lucian draws on external genres to achieve this. As I will argue, this approach reveals

that Lucian‘s brand of humor is not based solely on select passages from Plato, but is

firmly entrenched within the tradition of Old Comedy.

The question of Lucian‘s sources for this prologue has been addressed only in

terms of the first tale, and there are in fact two different opinions regarding its literary

inspiration. Nesselrath, on the one hand, has pointed to Diodorus Siculus‘ reference to

Dionysus‘ invasion in his Bibliotecha Historica as the basis for Lucian‘s version of the

story.46

Diodorus‘ account, however, is found in his discussion of the different myths

regarding the god‘s origin and does not offer much detail about his invasion of India. In

contrast, Georgiadou and Larmour have suggested that Lucian‘s tale is in many ways

indebted to Euripides‘ Bacchae and the struggle that that play depicts between Pentheus

and the god. 47

According to their interpretation, Dionysus‘ respective struggles in these

texts signify an ―initiation‖ into the rites of Dionysus or in the case of Lucian‘s text, the

True Histories:

The action of the Bacchae delineates a process of learning; similarly the

prolalia shows the Indians learning that they should not underestimate the

power of Dionysus and his maenads. The prolalia also serves to ‗initiate‘

Lucian‘s audience into the ‗Dionysian‘ content of the upcoming work, the

Verae Historiae.48

Although the connection of this prologue to the True Histories is tenuous, Georgiadou

and Larmour‘s discussion is significant because it highlights the generic play within this

text. In this section, I will suggest that Lucian‘s ‗initiation‘ of his audience in the

46

Nesselrath (1990:135-6). 47

Georgiadou and Larmour (1995:105). 48

Georgiadou and Larmour (1995: 105-6).

66

Dionysus is not into the ―Dionysian content‖ of the True Histories, but rather into the

generic interplay that is characteristic of Lucian‘s writing style. In the context of the first

tale, this appears not only in its resemblance to the scenario of the Bacchae, but Lucian‘s

subsequent analysis of it. As I will argue, Lucian‘s discussion of his craft in terms of his

audience‘s failure to appreciate his comic novelties calls to mind Aristophanes‘ similar

complaints in the parabasis of the Clouds, as well as that of the Wasps. Though Lucian

demands that his audience notice the seriousness of his work, the way in which he

defends his craft echoes that of Aristophanes in the parabases and thus emphasizes the

comic origins of Lucian‘s own literary novelties.

The questions regarding the sources and function of Lucian‘s second tale,

however, still remain. The answer, as I will suggest, lies in the figure of Silenus. Besides

images of drunken revelry, the figure of Silenus recalls the comparison drawn by

Alcibiades in Plato‘s Symposium between Socrates and the clay figurines depicting this

mythical figure as seen in the shops of Athens. According to Alcibiades, Socrates‘

external appearance evokes images of these comic figures, while his interior reveals the

true beauty of his wisdom (Symp. 215b-e). In light of this description of Socrates, it is

perhaps not surprising when, at the end of the dialogue, Socrates argues that the same

poet can compose comedies and tragedies (Symp. 223c-d). As Clay has argued, this is

Plato‘s subtle way of suggesting that he is the one who is able to unite and consequently

subjugate the two genres with his new brand of philosophy. 49

49

Clay (1975: 252-256). Leslie Kurke (2006) takes a slightly different approach to the image of a Silenic

Socrates and suggests that Plato may have been influenced by earlier Aesopic traditions.

67

My discussion will therefore begin with Lucian‘s explanation of the first tale, its

thematic similarities to the Clouds, and how that affects our understanding of his account

of Dionysus‘ invasion of India. In regards to the first tale, my focus will primarily be on

the role of Euripides‘ Bacchae in it and how it allows us to expand Branham‘s

understanding of Lucian‘s ―seriocomic‖ style by exploring how Lucian imitates and

reworks traditionally serious genres in a comic light. I will then turn my attention to

Lucian‘s second tale and show how it comically reacts to Plato‘s Symposium. As I will

suggest, Lucian‘s instructions to his audience at the end of the first tale create a

methodological approach that involves looking beyond the surface of text and noticing

the various sources on which he is drawing. Read with this methodology in mind,

Lucian‘s second tale evokes an image of Plato‘s Socrates that reveals how Lucian‘s

literary approach is not merely a comic means to a serious end, but an engagement with

Socrates‘ assertion that it is possible for the same person to write comedy and tragedy.

As Lucian suggests in this prologue, he is not only able to unite comedy and tragedy, but

comedy and philosophy as well.

Lucian’s Explanation of his Initial Tale

Before turning to Lucian‘s first tale, I will first examine Lucian‘s explanation for telling

such a tale to his audience and how his reasoning points us toward his generic

commitment. At the conclusion of his first tale, Lucian poses a rhetorical question to his

audience: ―Ἀιιὰ ηί πξὸο ηὸλ Γηόλπζνλ ὁ Γηόλπζνο νὗηνο;‖ (What has this Dionysus to do

with Dionysus? Dionysus 5). Similar to what we saw in the Heracles, Lucian here invites

68

his audience to interpret his version of Dionysus by comparing it to what they already

know of the god. For as Lucian goes on to explain, this tale is a metaphor for how

audiences have reacted to his works:

ὅηη κνη δνθνῦζη—θαὶ πξὸο Υαξίησλ κή κε θνξπβαληηλ ἢ ηειέσο κεζύεηλ

πνιάβεηε, εἰ ηἀκὰ εἰθάδσ ηνῖο ζενῖο—ὅκνηόλ ηη πάζρεηλ νἱ πνιινὶ πξὸο

ηνὺο θαηλνὺο ηῶλ ιόγσλ ηνῖο Ἰλδνῖο ἐθείλνηο, νἷνλ θαὶ πξὸο ηνὺο ἐκνύο·

νἰόκελνη γὰξ ζαηπξηθὰ θαὶ γεινῖά ηηλα θαὶ θνκηδῇ θσκηθὰ παξ‘ ἡκῶλ

ἀθνύζεζζαη—ηνηαῦηα γὰξ πεπηζηεύθαζηλ, νθ νἶδ‘ ὅ ηη δόμαλ αηνῖο πὲξ

ἐκνῦ —νἱ κὲλ νδὲ ηὴλ ἀξρὴλ ἀθηθλνῦληαη, ὡο νδὲλ δένλ παξέρεηλ ηὰ

ὦηα θώκνηο γπλαηθείνηο θαὶ ζθηξηήκαζη ζαηπξηθνῖο θαηαβάληαο ἀπὸ ηῶλ

ἐιεθάλησλ, νἱ δὲ ὡο ἐπὶ ηνηνῦηό ηη ἥθνληεο ἀληὶ ηνῦ θηηηνῦ ζίδεξνλ

εξόληεο νδ‘ νὕησο ἐπαηλεῖλ ηνικῶζη ηῷ παξαδόμῳ ηνῦ πξάγκαηνο

ηεζνξπβεκέλνη.

In my opinion (and in the name of the Graces don‘t think that I‘m in a

corybantic frenzy or downright drunk if I compare myself to the gods!)

most people are like the Indians when they encounter literary novelties,

like mine. They think that what they will hear from me will smack of

Satyrs and of jokes, in short, of comedy –for that is the conviction that

they‘ve formed, holding I know not what opinion of me— some of them

do not come at all, believing it unseemly to come off their elephants and

give their attention to revels of women and the leaps of Satyrs, while

others apparently come for something of that kind, and when they find

iron instead of ivy, they do not dare to applaud, confused by the

unexpectedness of the thing. (Dion. 5)

Lucian‘s annoyance that his previous audiences have snubbed the θαηλνὺο ηῶλ ιόγσλ

because of their overtly comic nature recalls Aristophanes‘ irritation following the failure

of the first Clouds and the tension between old and new that pervades the play. As I

discussed in the introduction to this chapter, Aristophanes opens the parabasis of the

Clouds by establishing his audience as the ideal, wise audience for his wise play, only to

blame them for its initial failure (519-26). In an Aristophanic ploy, Lucian here mocks

his previous audiences for being ignorant about his work. By revealing the failures of

past audiences to his current one, Lucian establishes them as an ideal audience. As his

69

ideal audience, they should notice that his work is not merely composed of satyrs and

jokes, (ζαηπξηθὰ θαὶ γεινῖά ηηλα) but contains a serious core, which in this metaphor is

the iron of his thrysus. While Branham has taken this to mean that Lucian‘s work has a

serious purpose, it is also possible to view this metaphor in terms of genre. Whereas

satyrs and jokes call to mind images of Comedy as well as Satyr plays, we can read

Lucian‘s iron in equally generic terms as referring to his inclusion and manipulation of

the ―loftier‖ genres of tragedy and philosophical dialogue.

In the Clouds, much of Aristophanes‘ humor lies in the pervasive tension between

old and new, as seen in the generational conflicts between Strepsiades and Pheidippides,

the figure of Socrates, the stronger and weaker arguments, and even within the parabasis

itself. 50

For as Aristophanes asserts in the parabasis, the Clouds is a novel play because

it lacks such traditional features as huge phalluses, jokes about bald men, and people

dancing the cordax 537-544): ―ἀιι‘ αἰεὶ θαηλὰο ἰδέαο εἰζθέξσλ ζνθίδνκαη,‖ (I am always

sophisticated by bringing in novel forms, 545).51

Implicit in Lucian‘s characterization of

his craft quoted above is a similar tension between what Lucian refers to as his literary

novelties (ηνὺο θαηλνὺο ηῶλ ιόγσλ) and more serious literary genres. Whereas

Aristophanes characterizes his comedy as new in terms of the style of comedy produced

by his rivals, Lucian‘s discussion of his craft in the Dionysus suggests that his works are

original in the very fact that they incorporate traditionally comic elements such as satyrs

and jokes. While I do not want to imply here that this passage is at all indicative of the

50

I am here referring to the fact that this portrayal of Socrates has characteristics derived from both the Pre-

Socratics and the sophists. For analysis of Socrates‘ character in the Clouds, see Dover (1989: xxxii-lvi). 51

For a discussion of how these claims are not substantiated outside of the parabasis, see Hubbard (1991)

and Major (2006).

70

type of performance pieces composed by Lucian‘s literary rivals, it is nonetheless

significant that Lucian appears to chafe at the snobbery of past audiences in regards to the

comic nature of his works. Though his reference to his iron thrysus attempts to downplay

the significance of comedy, this passage indicates that comedy pervades his style of

writing.

Besides the thematic similarities between the moral of his first tale and

Aristophanes‘ Clouds, Lucian does not allude to an extant comedy in his initial Dionysiac

tale but addresses its influence in general terms. In the context of this initial tale, the

figure of Dionysus embodies the comic elements that Lucian regards as the cause of his

previous audience‘s disregard of his work. Lucian‘s reticence to define these comic

elements, however, is not surprising given that his subsequent explanation commands his

audience to look beyond the ivy and notice the iron of his thrysus.

Lucian’s First Tale

Throughout Lucian‘s initial tale there is a tension between novelty and tradition, which

appears at its most basic level in his selection of Dionysus as his subject matter and the

tale that he chooses to tell about him. Yet as Lucian commences his account of the god‘s

invasion of India, he provides his audience not with a description of Dionysus or the

Indians, as we might expect, but rather the Indian‘s reaction to seeing the god for the first

time:

Ὅηε ὁ Γηόλπζνο ἐπ‘ Ἰλδνὺο ζηξαηηὰλ ἤιαζε —θσιύεη γὰξ νδέλ, νἶκαη,

θαὶ κῦζνλ κῖλ δηεγήζαζζαη Βαθρηθόλ —θαζὶλ νὕησ θαηαθξνλῆζαη

αηνῦ ηὰ πξῶηα ηνὺο ἀλζξώπνπο ηνὺο ἐθεῖ, ὥζηε θαηαγειλ ἐπηόληνο,

κιινλ δὲ ἐιεεῖλ ηὴλ ηόικαλ αηίθα κάια ζπκπαηεζεζνκέλνπ πὸ ηῶλ

71

ἐιεθάλησλ, εἰ ἀληηηάμαηην·

When Dionysus led his army against the Indians –nothing prevents me, I

suppose, from telling you a Bacchic tale— they say that the men there first

scorned him, that they laughed at his advance, and even more so, that they

pitied him for his daring since he would immediately be trampled by their

elephants, if they deployed them against him. (Dion. 1)

Although Lucian sets his tale in the exotic locale of India, it contains certain traditional

Dionysiac associations, most notably his characterization of Dionysus as a new and

foreign deity. 52

Lucian here presents us with an innovative take on a traditional tale

associated with Dionysus, namely his invasion of a land that focuses our attention away

from the god onto the Indian‘s reaction to him. In his discussion of this text, Nesselrath

argues that Lucian‘s tale of Dionysus‘ invasion of India was ―common and familiar from

at least the Hellenistic times‖ and was probably derived from Diodorus Siculus‘

Bibliotecha Historica.53

Yet Nesselrath‘s discussion of Diodorus‘ account suggests a

simpler relationship than in fact exists. In order to understand the influence that

Diodorus may have had on Lucian, let us briefly examine his account.

According to Diodorus, while mythographers agree that Dionysus is responsible

for such things as the cultivation of the vine and the establishment of mysteries, they

disagree whether there was a single Dionysus or several. Those that believe that there are

multiple Dionysuses attribute to Dionysus three different origins: the first Dionysus came

from India to spread the cultivation of the vine through the known world; the second was

conceived by Zeus and Persephone and was responsible for, among other things, the

52

For a discussion of Dionysus‘ characterization as a novel or foreign god, see Riu (1999:54-55). 53

For further discussion of this see Nesselrath (1990: 135-6).

72

yoking of oxen to a plow; and the third was born from the union of Zeus and Semele and

established the mystery rites associated with him (Biblo. 64). Diodorus goes on to

explain that though Dionysus (and he seems here to be referring to the third one) treated

all men with honor, Pentheus, Myrrhanus, who was the king of the Indians, and Lycurgus

scorned him. In some cases, namely that of Pentheus, Dionysus had his maenads rip his

enemies limb for limb, while others he defeated with an ivy covered thrysus (Biblio.65.3-

4). From this summary, it is possible to see Diodorus as a potential source for the

general tale of Dionysus‘ invasion of India and the deceptive image of the ivy covered

thrysus.

In contrast to Nesselrath‘s discussion of Lucian‘s possible source material,

Georgiadou and Larmour have suggested that Lucian modeled this battle between the

Indians and maenads on the quarrel between the god and Pentheus.54

Whereas the

connections drawn by Nesselrath with Diodorus‘ earlier account are based on the general

tale of Dionysus‘ invasion of India, the argument that the Bacchae represents a potential

source for Lucian is derived from his focus on the Indians‘ rejection of the god and their

subsequent punishment. While it is impossible to say for certain whether one text had

more influence on Lucian than another, what can be determined is that in Diodorus‘

account of Dionysus Dionysus‘ destruction of Pentheus and the Indian king Myrrhanus

are grouped together, suggesting that there was already a connection between these two

tales.55

For the remainder of my discussion of Lucian‘s initial Dionysiac tale, I will focus

54

Georgiadou and Larmour (1995: 105). 55

Since Lucian never names the king of the Indians, it is impossible to know if this was the king he had in

mind.

73

on the potential connection to the Bacchae and how this affects our understanding of the

image of his literary craft that Lucian presents us with in this tale.

In both the Bacchae and Lucian‘s tale, there are two audiences: one embedded

within the framework of the work who witness the god for the first time and the external

one watching the play or the prologue being performed. Both works portray Dionysus as

familiar to the external audience and unfamiliar to the embedded one, namely the

Thebans and the Indians. In the context of the Bacchae, Dionysus‘ foreign status is

established from the god‘s first words, which establish Thebes as his entrance into the

Greek world (Bacchae 14-20). Pentheus fails to recognize and therefore respect

Dionysus‘ divinity, for which he is eventually punished with dismemberment.56

As we

can see, though Lucian shifts the setting from Greece to India, there are basic similarities

in plot between the two works. Like the Dionysus of the Bacchae, Lucian‘s version

depicts the god invading a land in which his divinity is not recognized, and he

subsequently punishes the inhabitants for their obstinance. In the course of his tale,

Lucian focuses primarily on an Indian scout‘s description of the god, which portrays the

god as strange and laughable, not unlike what we saw in his description of the Celt‘s

interpretation of Heracles. The Indians‘ description of the god thus presents him in a

new and original light, and this new view of the god is, according to Branham, ―closely

akin to parody‖ and not surprising in a writer ―for whom parody is so important.‖57

Lucian‘s redeployment of the Bacchae’s scenario in a new location and from a new

56

The exceptions to this are Cadmus and Tiresias who try to warn Pentheus at lines 266-369 not to scorn

the god. 57

See Branham (1985: 242) and (1989: 45).

74

cultural perspective thus becomes symbolic of his own literary endeavors.

Lucian‘s parody, however, is not simply in his description of the god, as Branham

suggests, but in his portrayal of himself. As I mentioned above, in Lucian‘s explanation

of this tale Dionysus becomes symbolic of Lucian‘s literary style, in particular its comic

elements and the scorn they have induced among audiences. Lucian thus selects a

scenario in which the Greek god appears in Greece as a foreigner to represent himself, a

Syrian writing in Greek and embattling certain generic hierarchies in which the serious

genres of tragedy and philosophical dialogue are seen as superior to the comic ones. Yet,

while the introduction of Dionysus into Greece would seem a fitting parallel for Lucian‘s

own literary endeavor, Lucian reverses the scenario. In his tale, Dionysus is no longer a

foreigner invading Greece, but a Greek force invading the exotic east. Behind this

modification we can not only see a claim on Lucian‘s part to Hellenic status, but an ironic

joke about his own origins that pervades the tale and highlights its humorous tone.

What was originally Pentheus‘ failure to recognize and accept the divinity of

Dionysus becomes in the figure of the Indians the humor of Lucian‘s tale. This is borne

out in the description of Dionysus and his army that Lucian presents through the eyes of

an Indian scout:

ὀιίγνπο δέ ηηλαο ἀγξνίθνπο λεαλίζθνπο ἐλεῖλαη, γπκλνύο, θόξδαθα

ὀξρνπκέλνπο, νξὰο ἔρνληαο, θεξάζηαο, νἷα ηνῖο ἄξηη γελλεζεῖζηλ ἐξίθνηο

πνθύεηαη. θαὶ ηὸλ κὲλ ζηξαηειάηελ αηὸλ ἐθ‘ ἅξκαηνο ὀρεῖζζαη

παξδάιεσλ πεδεπγκέλσλ, ἀγέλεηνλ ἀθξηβῶο, νδ‘ ἐπ‘ ὀιίγνλ ηὴλ παξεηὰλ

ρλνῶληα, θεξαζθόξνλ, βνηξύνηο ἐζηεθαλσκέλνλ, κίηξᾳ ηὴλ θόκελ

ἀλαδεδεκέλνλ, ἐλ πνξθπξίδη θαὶ ρξπζῇ ἐκβάδη·

A few young clodhoppers are with them, dancing the cordax naked; they

have tails, and horns like those that start from the foreheads of newborn

kids. As for the general himself, he rides on a car behind a team of

75

panthers; he is quite beardless, without even the least bit of down on his

cheek, has horns, wears a garland of grape clusters, ties up his hair up with

a ribbon, and is in a purple gown and gilt slippers. (Dion. 1-2)

The Indians laugh at this description of the invading army: ―Σαῦηα νἱ Ἰλδνὶ θαὶ ὁ

βαζηιεῦο αηῶλ ἀθνύνληεο ἐγέισλ, ὡο ηὸ εἰθόο…‖ (The Indians and king upon hearing

these things laughed, as well they might…Dion. 3). Lucian‘s inclusion of the almost

parenthetical phrase ὡο ηὸ εἰθόο suggests that the Indian‘s reaction to Dionysus is not

necessarily unfounded and perhaps even understandable to an audience who is also

seeing Dionysus as if for the first time. This phrase implies that it was not simply that the

Indians laughed at Dionysus, but that they did not at the same time recognize him as a

serious threat that led to their destruction.

In his summary of this tale, Branham notes that this ―story does not instruct in

addition to being comic, but by means of being comic.‖58

Lucian‘s imitation of the

Bacchae, however, in this tale and his subsequent chastisement of audience not only

shows the power of laughter, but also demonstrates to his audience that his work is

grounded in the Greek literary tradition. While the comic or parodic features of the tale

do function as instructional tools, their instruction goes beyond defining the role of

laughter and comedy in this tale to emphasize for Lucian‘s audience‘s that his literary

style is not simply Satyrs and jokes, but displays a knowledge of and interaction with the

great works of Greek literature. By looking beyond the ivy of this tale, we saw how

Lucian draws on and manipulates the scenario of the Bacchae. Read as such, the iron of

Lucian‘s thrysus thus appears to be Lucian‘s tragic source material.

58

Branham (1985: 243).

76

According to Branham, Lucian‘s tale and its subsequent explanation is

characteristic of Lucian‘s ―seriocomic‖ style. As he explains:

The tale of Dionysus‘ invasion is the perfect vehicle for this admonition,

for in telling it and interpreting it the speaker gives a demonstration of his

seriocomic art on a small scale. The comic narrative is made to apply

directly to his artistic intentions and the relationship between the

performance and the audience.59

For Branham, Lucian incites his audience to laugh at the Indians and in doing so

demonstrates to them how a comic tale can have a serious purpose. While the serious

purpose that Branham attributes to the laughter of this text is certainly one aspect of

Lucian‘s seriocomic style, it is only one aspect. In his definition of what constitutes a

seriocomic work, Bakhtin points to, among other things, the inclusion of multiple voices

within a single text, and it is this aspect of his style that I believe Lucian to be

highlighting in his critique of his earlier audience.60

In the case of the Dionysus’ opening

tale, this comes in the form of something that was traditionally serious, namely the

narrative pattern of Euripides‘ Bacchae, being recast in a novel and humorous light.61

While the first tale of the Dionysus is intended as an admonition of sorts, it is not this that

defines Lucian‘s ―seriocomic‖ style but rather his ability to present typically serious

themes as something new and therefore funny. As we will see in Lucian‘s second tale,

the union of serious and comic tropes in Lucian‘s first tale has its roots in one of the final

scenes of Plato‘s Symposium.

59

Branham (1985: 243). 60

Bakhtin (1984: 108). 61

Lucian‘s comic reworking of Euripides calls to mind Aristophanes‘ in such plays as the Acharnians,

which draws on Euripides‘ lost Telephus.

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Lucian’s Second Tale

While Lucian offers an explanation of his first tale to his audience, there is no such

explanation of the second, and we must consequently follow his previous instructions to

his audience and look beyond its Satyrs and jokes. As Lucian explains to his audience,

this tale shares the Dionysiac theme and exotic Indian setting of the first: ―γὼ δέ,

ἐπεηδήπεξ ἔηη ἐλ Ἰλδνῖο ἐζκέλ, ἐζέισ θαὶ ἄιιν κῖλ δηεγήζαζζαί ηη ηῶλ ἐθεῖζελ, νθ

ἀπξνζδηόλπζνλ νδ‘ αηό, νδ‘ ὧλ πνηνῦκελ ἀιιόηξηνλ.‖ (Since we are still in India, I

want to tell you another tale of those things there, not unconnected to Dionysus, nor

irrelevant to our business, Dion. 6.) In the previous tale, Dionysus and his army were

analogous to Lucian‘s literary style, and the characterization of the tale to come as νθ

ἀπξνζδηόλπζνλ indicates that his audience should regard the second in a similar light.

Unlike the martial theme of the first, however, this tale presents a rather idyllic image of

a probably fictitious tribe of Indians referred to by Lucian as the Machleans.62

This tribe,

according to Lucian, has a grove sacred to Dionysus in which there are three springs: one

dedicated to the Satyrs, one to Pan, and one to Silenus. Once a year the men of the tribe

gather in the grove to celebrate the god, and they drink from the springs according to

their age, with the boys drinking from the spring of the Satyrs, the men from that of Pan,

and the old men from that of Silenus. While time prevents Lucian from relating the

effects that these springs have over the boys and men, he provides his audience with a

description of what happens to the old men (Dion. 6-7).

62

Nesselrath (1990: 138-139).

78

When an old man drinks from the spring, the god possesses him to the extent that

he immediately becomes mute (ἄθσλόο), he appears to be drunk (θαξεβαξνῦληη) and

stunned (βεβαπηηζκέλῳ, Dion. 7). The old man‘s muteness, however, soon wears off and

he begins to speak eloquently and continuously:

εἶηα ἄθλσ θσλή ηε ιακπξὰ θαὶ θζέγκα ηνξὸλ θαὶ πλεῦκα ιηγπξὸλ

ἐγγίγλεηαη αηῷ θαὶ ιαιίζηαηνο ἐμ ἀθσλνηάηνπ ἐζηίλ, νδ‘ ἂλ

ἐπηζηνκίζαο παύζεηαο αηὸλ κὴ νρὶ ζπλερῆ ιαιεῖλ θαὶ ῥήζεηο καθξὰο

ζπλείξεηλ.

Then suddenly the sound of his voice becomes clear, his modulation

excited, and his intonation seductive. He is as talkative as he was quiet

before, even by gagging him you could not keep him from talking steadily

and delivering long speeches. (Dionysus 7)

Such a characterization leads Lucian to liken the old man who has been inspired by

Silenus to a cicada: ―ἀιιὰ ηεηηηγῶδέο ηη ππθλὸλ θαὶ ἐπίηξνρνλ ζπλάπηνπζηλ ἄρξη βαζείαο

ἑζπέξαο," (but like cicadas, they spend their time in close and glib conversation till well

into the night, Dion. 7).63

As Lucian concludes this brief tale, he leaves his audience to

ponder the connection between what he has just told them and the image of himself drawn

earlier in the prologue:

Σαῦηά κνη θαηὰ ηὸλ Μῶκνλ εἰο ἐκαπηὸλ ἀπεζθώθζσ, θαὶ κὰ ηὸλ Γί‘ νθ

ἂλ ἔηη ἐπαγάγνηκη ηὸ ἐπηκύζηνλ· ὁξηε γὰξ ἤδε θαζ‘ ὅ ηη ηῷ κύζῳ ἔνηθα.

ὥζηε ἢλ κέλ ηη παξαπαίσκελ, ἡ κέζε αἰηία· εἰ δὲ πηλπηὰ δόμεηε ηὰ

ιεγόκελα, ὁ ηιελὸο ἄξα ἦλ ἵιεσο.

Permit me this joke at my own expense, in the spirit of Momus. I refuse to

draw the moral, I swear; for you already see how the fable applies to me.

If I make any slip, then, the drink is to blame, but if what I say should

seem reasonable, then Silenus has been good to me. (Dion. 8)

While, on the one hand, Lucian‘s refusal to provide his audience with an ἐπηκύζηνλ

63

Lucian‘s comparison here of the old men to cicadas recalls Homer‘s description of the Trojan old men at

Iliad 3.51, as well as Plato‘s account of the cicada‘s origin in the Phaedrus (259b-c).

79

incites us to think further about this second tale, his subsequent captatio benevolentiae

indicates that like the old men of his story, he too is a devotee of Silenus. Whereas in the

first tale Dionysus and his army of revelers became a metaphor for Lucian‘s literary style,

Lucian here likens himself to a specific reveler, namely Silenus.

Though Silenus is never described in the second tale, Lucian provides us with a

description of him in the Indian scout‘s account of Dionysus‘ army:

ἕλα κέλ ηηλα βξαρύλ, πξεζβύηελ, πόπαρπλ, πξνγάζηνξα, ῥηλόζηκνλ, ὦηα

κεγάια ὄξζηα ἔρνληα, πόηξνκνλ, λάξζεθη ἐπεξεηδόκελνλ, ἐπ‘ ὄλνπ ηὰ

πνιιὰ ἱππεύνληα, ἐλ θξνθσηῷ θαὶ ηνῦηνλ, πάλπ πηζαλόλ ηηλα

ζπληαγκαηάξρελ

One [i.e. Silenus] is a short, thick-set old man with a belly, a flat nose and

large, up-standing ears, who is a bit shaky and walks with a staff (though

mostly he rides on an ass), and is also in a woman‘s gown that is yellow;

he is a very appropriate aide to such a chief! (Dion. 2)

As this description emphasizes, Silenus is typically portrayed as a rather hideous old

man, a fact that has led some scholars to assume that Lucian‘s devotion to Silenus at the

end of this prologue indicates that, like the Heracles, the Dionysus must be a work of his

later years.64

The age connection, however, is by no means the only connotation

associated with the figure of Silenus. According to the mythology surrounding him,

Silenus tutored Dionysus and later became his companion. He is thus often portrayed as

drunk and consequently possessed by the god. As Anderson points out, the god‘s

permanent inebriated state means he is assumed to tell the truth only through riddles.65

Lucian‘s self-proclaimed Silenic inspiration draws a comparison between the image of

his work that he has already drawn for his audience and that of Silenus. Like Silenus‘

64

Nesselrath (1990: 140). 65

Anderson (1993: 104).

80

riddles, Lucian‘s first tale characterizes his literary style as a mixture of serious and

comic elements not unlike the heterogeneous figure of Silenus who is on the one hand a

―grotesque hedonist,‖ while on the other ―an immortal companion to a god.‖66

Read in

light of Lucian‘s instructions to his audience to notice both the comic and serious

elements of his work, his final devotion to Silenus calls to mind Alcibiades‘ famed

comparison of Socrates to a Silenus figure at the end of Plato‘s Symposium.

As Socrates is finishing his speech on ἔξσο, Alcibiades bursts onto the scene,

drunkenly shouting, supported by a flute girl, and wreathed in ivy. As Anderson has

pointed out about this scene, Alcibiades here recalls Dionysus and his entrance

reestablishes the Dionysiac tone of a drinking party at which the participants were

abstaining from the overindulgence of wine.67

Such a tone thus sets the stage for

Alcibiades‘ description of his former teacher as a Silenus figure:

σθξάηε δ‘ ἐγὼ ἐπαηλεῖλ, ὦ ἄλδξεο, νὕησο ἐπηρεηξήζσ, δη‘ εἰθόλσλ. νὗηνο

κὲλ νὖλ ἴζσο νἰήζεηαη ἐπὶ ηὰ γεινηόηεξα, ἔζηαη δ‘ ἡ εἰθὼλ ηνῦ ἀιεζνῦο

ἕλεθα, ν ηνῦ γεινίνπ. θεκὶ γὰξ δὴ ὁκνηόηαηνλ αηὸλ εἶλαη ηνῖο ζηιελνῖο

ηνύηνηο ηνῖο ἐλ ηνῖο ἑξκνγιπθείνηο θαζεκέλνηο, νὕζηηλαο ἐξγάδνληαη νἱ

δεκηνπξγνὶ ζύξηγγαο ἢ αινὺο ἔρνληαο, νἳ δηράδε δηνηρζέληεο θαίλνληαη

ἔλδνζελ ἀγάικαηα ἔρνληεο ζεῶλ.

I‘ll try to praise Socrates, my friends, but I‘ll have to use an image. And

though he may think I‘m trying to make fun of him, I assure you my

image is no joke: it aims at the truth. Look at him! Isn‘t he just like a

stature of Silenus? You know the kind of statue I mean; you‘ll find the in

any shop in town. It‘s a Silenus sitting, his flute or his pipes in his hands,

and it‘s hollow. It‘s split right down the middle, and inside it‘s full of tiny

statues of gods. (Symposium 215a-b)

66

Anderson (1993:104). 67

―Alkibiades enters—or more accurately, perhaps, Dionysos enters in the person of Alkibiades…‖

Anderson (1993: 13). See Nussbaum (1979) for a discussion of the seriousness of Alcibiades‘ speech. For

arguments to the contrary, see Anderson (1993: 174 n.1).

81

Alcibiades prefaces his description of ―Socrates Silenus‖, as Clay put it, with the

suggestion that while the comparison might appear on the surface to be a joke, this image

is his attempt at the truth.68

The comic surface of Alcibiades‘ description is then mirrored

in the image of Socrates as a Silenus figure that he draws. As Alcibiades goes on to

explain, it is not just Socrates‘ physical appearance that makes him like a Silenus but his

style of argumentation:

νἷνο δὲ νηνζὶ γέγνλε ηὴλ ἀηνπίαλ ἅλζξσπνο, θαὶ αηὸο θαὶ νἱ ιόγνη

αηνῦ, νδ‘ ἐγγὺο ἂλ εὕξνη ηηο δεηῶλ, νὔηε ηῶλ λῦλ νὔηε ηῶλ παιαηῶλ, εἰ

κὴ ἄξα εἰ νἷο ἐγὼ ιέγσ ἀπεηθάδνη ηηο αηόλ, ἀλζξώπσλ κὲλ κεδελί, ηνῖο δὲ

ζηιελνῖο θαὶ ζαηύξνηο, αηὸλ θαὶ ηνὺο ιόγνπο. Καὶ γὰξ νὖλ θαὶ ηνῦην ἐλ

ηνῖο πξώηνηο παξέιηπνλ, ὅηη θαὶ νἱ ιόγνη αηνῦ ὁκνηόηαηνί εἰζη ηνῖο

ζηιελνῖο ηνῖο δηνηγνκέλνηο. εἰ γὰξ ἐζέινη ηηο ηῶλ σθξάηνπο ἀθνύεηλ

ιόγσλ, θαλεῖελ ἂλ πάλπ γεινῖνη ηὸ πξῶηνλ· ηνηαῦηα θαὶ ὀλόκαηα θαὶ

ῥήκαηα mἔμσζελ πεξηακπέρνληαη, ζαηύξνπ δή ηηλα βξηζηνῦ δνξάλ.

ὄλνπο γὰξ θαλζειίνπο ιέγεη θαὶ ραιθέαο ηηλὰο θαὶ ζθπηνηόκνπο θαὶ

βπξζνδέςαο, θαὶ ἀεὶ δηὰ ηῶλ αηῶλ ηὰ αηὰ θαίλεηαη ιέγεηλ, ὥζηε ἄπεηξνο

θαὶ ἀλόεηνο ἄλζξσπνοπο ἂλ ηῶλ ιόγσλ θαηαγειάζεηελ. δηνηγνκέλνπο δὲ

ἰδὼλ ἄλ ηηο θαὶ ἐληὸο αηῶλ γηγλόκελνο πξῶηνλ κὲλ λνῦλ ἔρνληαοnἔλδνλ

κόλνπο εξήζεη ηῶλ ιόγσλ, ἔπεηηα ζεηνηάηνπο θαὶ πιεῖζηα ἀγάικαη‘

ἀξεηῆο ἐλ αηνῖο ἔρνληαο θαὶ ἐπὶ πιεῖζηνλ ηείλνληαο, κιινλ δὲ ἐπὶ πλ

ὅζνλ πξνζήθεη ζθνπεῖλ ηῷ κέιινληη θαιῷ θἀγαζῷ ἔζεζζαη.

But this man here is so bizarre, his ways and his ideas are so unusual, that,

search as you might, you‘ll never find anyone else alive or dead, who‘s

even remotely like him. The best you can do is not to compare him to

anything human, but to liken him as I do, to Silenus and the satyrs, and the

same goes for his ideas and arguments. Come to think of it, I should have

mentioned this much earlier: even his ideas and arguments are just like

those hollow statues of Silenus. If you were to listen to his arguments, at

first they‘d strike you as totally ridiculous; they‘re clothed in words as

coarse as the hides worn by the most vulgar satyrs. He‘s always going on

about pack-asses, or blacksmiths, or cobblers, or tanners; making the same

tired old points in the same tired old words. If you are foolish, or simply

unfamiliar with him, you‘d find it impossible not to laugh at his

arguments. But if you see them when they‘re open up like statues, if you

go beyond the surface, you‘ll realize that no other arguments make any

68

Clay (2000:69).

82

sense. They‘re truly worthy of a god, bursting with figures of virtue

inside. They‘re of great—no of the greatest—importance for anyone who

wants to become a truly good man. (Symp. 221d-222a)

Alcibiades here describes how for those who are unfamiliar with Socrates, his style of

argumentation can seem strange and, to those who are particularly foolish, comical.

Socrates thus potentially endures reactions among his listeners not unlike what Lucian

describes in this prologue. As Clay has argued, the end of the Symposium presents

Socrates as a simultaneously comic and tragic figure. Socrates consequently becomes the

tool by which Plato neutralizes the authority of these genres with his new approach to

philosophy.69

Recently, Kurke has furthered Clay‘s point by suggesting that among the

low-register, comic genres subsumed by Plato‘s philosophy are figures such as Aesop.70

Like the image of Dionysus presented in the initial tale, Socrates crosses generic

boundaries and foregrounds Lucian‘s program of recasting traditionally serious topics

and uniting the once incompatible genres of Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue. Yet in

Plato‘s description of Socrates as a Silenus, the emphasis is placed on his serious role as a

philosopher, despite his outward comic appearance. I would like to suggest here that,

whereas Plato defuses tragedy and comedy with his new philosophical approach, Lucian

incorporates all three genres in his new brand of comedy.

Lucian‘s invocation of Silenus at the end of the Dionysus thus evokes Alcibiades‘

image of Socrates, which Plato mirrors in Socrates‘ concluding arguments that the same

69

―It is no accident that the laughter of the Symposium centers on Socrates. In Socrates, Plato discovered

an object of imitation that was both comic and tragic. It is a mistake to see in Socrates a tragic and serious

figure, and in Aristophanes, or Alcibiades, or the sophists, comic and low characters. Socrates himself was

both comic and tragic.‖ Clay (1975: 255). 70

See Kurke (2006).

83

poet could write comedy and tragedy.71

ἐμεγξόκελνο δὲ ἰδεῖλ ηνὺο κὲλ ἄιινπο θαζεύδνληαο θαὶ νἰρνκέλνπο,

Ἀγάζσλα δὲ θαὶ Ἀξηζηνθάλε θαὶ σθξάηε ἔηη κόλνπο ἐγξεγνξέλαη θαὶ

πίλεηλ ἐθ θηάιεο κεγάιεο ἐπὶ δεμηά. ηὸλ νὖλ σθξάηε αηνῖο δηαιέγεζζαη·

θαὶ ηὰ κὲλ ἄιια ὁ Ἀξηζηόδεκνο νθ ἔθε κεκλῆζζαη ηῶλ ιόγσλ—νὔηε γὰξ

ἐμ ἀξρῆο παξαγελέζζαη πνλπζηάδεηλ ηε—ηὸ κέληνη θεθάιαηνλ, ἔθε,

πξνζαλαγθάδεηλ ηὸλ σθξάηε ὁκνινγεῖλ αηνὺο ηνῦ αηνῦ ἀλδξὸο εἶλαη

θσκῳδίαλ θαὶ ηξαγῳδίαλ ἐπίζηαζζαη πνηεῖλ, θαὶ ηὸλ ηέρλῃ ηξαγῳδνπνηὸλ

ὄληα <θαὶ> θσκῳδνπνηὸλ εἶλαη. ηαῦηα δὴ ἀλαγθαδνκέλνπο αηνὺο θαὶ ν

ζθόδξα ἑπνκέλνπο λπζηάδεηλ, θαὶ πξόηεξνλ κὲλ θαηαδαξζεῖλ ηὸλ

Ἀξηζηνθάλε, ἤδε δὲ ἡκέξαο γηγλνκέλεο ηὸλ Ἀγάζσλα. ηὸλ νὖλ σθξάηε,

θαηαθνηκίζαλη‘ ἐθείλνπο, ἀλαζηάληα ἀπηέλαη

He saw that the others had either left or were asleep on their couches and

that only Agathon, Aristophanes, and Socrates were still awake, drinking

out of a large cup which they were passing around from left to right.

Socrates was talking to them. Aristodemus couldn‘t remember exactly

what they were saying—he‘d missed the first part of their discussion, and

he was half-asleep anyway—but the main point was that Socrates was

trying to prove to them that authors should be able to write both comedy

and tragedy: a skillful tragic dramatist should also be a comic poet. He

was about to clinch his argument, though, to tell the truth, sleepy as they

were, they were hardly able to follow his reasoning. In fact, Aristophanes

fell asleep in the middle of the discussion, and very soon thereafter,

Agathon drifted off. (Symp. 223c-d)

Such an ending to the Symposium creates what Clay calls ―a Socratic paradox,‖ since at

the time of the Symposium‘s dramatic date, 416 BCE, there was no poet in the history of

Greek literature who had composed both tragedies and comedies, something that would

not happen until the Hellenistic period.72

For Clay, the solution to this paradox is found

neither in Aristophanes nor in Agathon but in Plato and his presentation of Socrates.73

71

As Clay also points to the change in speaking order that happens due to Aristophanes‘ hiccups also

emphasizes this point, (1975: 247). 72

See Clay (1975: 240) for further discussion of this. 73

This interpretation is supported not only by the fact that Aristophanes‘ hiccups force him to speak before

Agathon, but also by Plato‘s adoption of a particularly comic image in Alcibiades‘ speech and ultimately in

the Symposium as a whole. Clay (1975: 255-256). Branham similarly characterizes Socrates of the

Symposium as a seriocomic figure, (1989: 51-52).

84

Lucian‘s reference to Silenus at the end of the Dionysus thus reminds us of the

Symposium and the way in which Plato manages to unite comedy and tragedy under the

rubric of philosophy. Throughout my discussion of this prologue, I have tried to show

how Lucian draws on the genres of Old Comedy, Tragedy, and Platonic dialogue as he

weaves his two tales about Dionysus and his follower, Silenus. While Lucian‘s Silenic

inspiration at the end would seem to emphasize the Platonic influence on his

characterization of his literary style, there is a problem with this assumption. For if we are

to view Socrates as the main source for Lucian‘s new brand of comedy, we must make the

problematic assumption that Lucian viewed Socrates as the seriocomic figure that

Branham sees him as and ignored the serious portraits of him that appear far more

frequently.74

Since overt portrayals of Socrates among Lucian‘s writings are rare, though

admittedly funny, I would like to propose here that Lucian‘s invocation of Silenus at the

end of this prologue is an announcement on Lucian‘s part that he too has solved the

problem proposed by Socrates, only this time with comedy, and in doing so, he

acknowledges the seriousness of comedy in its own right.

A tension exists throughout this prologue between tradition and novelty, and

comedy and more serious pursuits such as tragedy and philosophy. As we will see in the

Literary Prometheus, this conflict is ultimately refined to the longstanding tension

between comedy and philosophy initiated by Aristophanes‘ Clouds and reaffirmed in

Plato‘s Apology. In the following section, I will explore Lucian‘s claims to have resolved

this problem. As I will suggest, the assertions made by Lucian in this prologue mimic the

74

See Branham (1989: 46-52).

85

opening argument structure of the Apology, and as such allow him to establish himself as

the literary successor not only to comedy, but Plato as well.

IV. The Literary Prometheus

In the Dionysus we saw that Lucian‘s comic reworking of the Bacchae‘s plot and

Alcibiades‘ famous comparison of Socrates to Silenus emphasized the significance of

comedy in his writings. Similarly in the Literary Prometheus, Lucian illustrates his

complex blend of comedy and philosophical dialogue not only through its arguments but

its very structure as well. Written as a response to a comparison drawn between Lucian

and the Titan Prometheus, the Literary Prometheus directly addresses and attempts to

resolve the longstanding tension between comedy and philosophy. Though the

comparison was intended to praise his originality, Lucian rejects this association on the

grounds that originality is not enough to merit praise, a point he illustrates with a tale

about the ridicule a certain Ptolemy faced for displaying such monstrosities as a jet-black

camel and a half-black and half-white man. Instead, Lucian proclaims that he has

resolved the standoff between comedy and philosophy by concocting a new genre, the

comic dialogue. As he concludes this text, however, he compares his new literary

creation to the bones and the fat used by Prometheus to deceive Zeus –only in his case,

philosophy represents the fat that conceals the bones of comedy. In light of this final

image, what does it mean that Lucian represents his work as a trick? And how does this

advance our understanding of the relationship of the two genres within Lucian‘s works as

well as Lucian‘s relationship to the literary tradition?

86

Despite the fact that the Literary Prometheus contains explicit statements

regarding Lucian‘s craft, it has received little scholarly attention. Branham, for example,

focuses on Lucian‘s interpretation of the label of Prometheus as an insult and Lucian‘s

subsequent defense of his craft.75

Whereas Branham firmly establishes this text‘s

significance, Romm reads it in light of other Lucianic portraits of the titan. As a titan-

craftsman, Prometheus is an important mythological precedent for Lucian in that he

represents both tradition and innovation. And perhaps more importantly, his creations are

made of mud and are therefore malleable, unlike what Romm characterizes as the rigid

approaches to the literary tradition of Lucian‘s contemporary sophists.76

For Romm,

Prometheus‘ creation of mankind out of mud serves as a metaphor for Lucian‘s ―spirit of

playful, irreverent nonconformity, in contrast to rigidity of antiquated tradition.‖77

This

text thus depicts Lucian‘s desire to create something new that is not at the same time

viewed by his audience as grotesque, making Lucian‘s comic dialogue the best of both

worlds.78

In this section, I will build on the work of Branham and Romm to examine more

closely Lucian‘s claim to have yoked successfully philosophical dialogue and comedy, as

well as his choice to portray his literary output as a Promethean trick. In his discussion of

this text, Branham characterizes it as Lucian‘s ―ironic apology‖ against charges of

75

See Branham (1989: 40-43). 76

In his discussion of the role of Prometheus in the Tragic Zeus, Romm notes that ―in an ironic reversal of

chronology a member of the oldest of old guards, the Titan regime, is herein seen as part-author of the new

ideas of Epicurean science; and the challenge that authorship poses to Zeus‘ power seems to derive, in

some unspecified fashion, from his whimsical experiments in clay.‖ (1990: 81). It should be noted that the

characterization of himself as sculptor appears in the Dream and is potentially a connection to Socrates,

who is also associated with sculpting. See Pausanias Description of Greece I.22.8 where he claims to have

seen a sculpture made by Socrates. 77

Romm (1990: 82). 78

Romm (1990: 84).

87

originality.79

I will suggest that Lucian‘s opening arguments recall the exordium of

Plato‘s Apology and, as such, cast his work as innovatively grounded in tradition. Lucian

keys us into this aspect of his work when he compares it to Prometheus‘ sacrifice trick, --

a trick that, as I will argue, not only reinforces our characterization of Lucian as a

trickster but also once again offers instructions in how to approach his works.

Lucian‘s choice to compare himself to Prometheus represents a platform to

showcase his own literary accomplishment, calling to mind the literary tradition

associated with the titan.80

There is some scholarly debate, however, over which aspects

of Prometheus‘ character Lucian is in fact invoking in this brief prologue. Macleod, on

the one hand, suggests that during the Antonine period any mention of Prometheus would

immediately call to mind Aeschylus‘ portrayal of him rather than that of Hesiod or Plato.

Macleod supports this argument by pointing to what he sees as Lucian‘s irreverent

portrayal of the Olympian gods.81

Romm, on the other hand, argues that Lucian

attributes to Prometheus the role of ―artistic revolutionary.‖82

While Romm avoids trying

to pin down one specific text as the literary precedent for such a version of Prometheus,

one aspect of Prometheus‘ literary tradition that has been overlooked is Plato‘s

Protagoras.83

79

―A Literary Prometheus is an ironic apology for Lucian‘s principal literary innovation, the comic

dialogue.‖ Branham (1989:42). Jones (1986) has argued that the Literary Prometheus is not a speech, but

an ―open letter.‖ His arguments are based on the second person address found throughout the text. (15) As

Romm points out, however, this is a common feature of Lucian‘s style. Romm (1990: 74 n.1). See also

Bompaire (1958: 288 n.5). 80

Within Lucian‘s corpus, the titan plays a prominent role in two other dialogues: the Prometheus and the

fifth dialogue in the Dialogues of the Gods. 81

Macleod (1956: 237). 82

Romm (1990: 81). Sechan suggests that Lucian‘s Prometheus is taken from that of Hesiod and

Aeschylus (1951: 84), but Romm disagrees with this claim. 83

I am not here trying to suggest that this is the precedent, but rather that it should not be overlooked.

88

In the Protagoras, the sophist attempts to answer through a creation myth

Socrates‘ famous question: can virtue be taught? According to Protagoras‘ version of the

myth, the gods fashioned all the various living creatures and entrusted Prometheus and

his brother Epimetheus to distribute the appropriate powers to each creature. Prometheus,

however, allowed Epimetheus to complete this task and, true to his name, Epimetheus

failed to reserve specific powers for mankind. Prometheus subsequently stole two items

on behalf of mankind: fire from Hephaestus and wisdom in the practical arts from

Athena. This is rather a strange moment in the dialogue since this version of the creation

myth does not actually make Protagoras‘ case that he has the right to call himself a

teacher of virtue. He consequently concludes his tale by describing how man‘s lack of

the art of politics forced Zeus to step in and distribute it among all of mankind.

Protagoras can thus teach his students how to be more virtuous people because Zeus has

imbued everyone with an understanding of virtue. As a self-proclaimed teacher of virtue,

Protagoras‘ role becomes analogous to that of Zeus in his tale.

My interest in the Prometheus myth of the Protagoras is not ultimately concerned

with the myth itself but the comparison Lucian draws between himself and the titan. In

his survey of the figure of Prometheus from Hesiod to Goethe, Wutrich argues that

Lucian‘s Literary Prometheus is the first instance in Greek literature in which there is a

comparison between a man and the titan.84

On the contrary, Socrates represents an

important precedent for Lucian‘s comparison. As the Protagoras concludes, Socrates

returns to Protagoras tale of Prometheus:

84

Wutrich sees this as significant due to the ambiguity he sees surrounding Prometheus‘ choice to help

mankind. (1995:53)

89

ὦ Πξσηαγόξα, πάληα ηαῦηα θαζνξῶλ ἄλσ θάησ ηαξαηηόκελα δεηλῶο,

πζαλ πξνζπκίαλ ἔρσ θαηαθαλῆ αηὰ γελέζζαη, θαὶ βνπινίκελ ἂλ ηαῦηα

δηεμειζόληαο ἡκο ἐμειζεῖλ θαὶ ἐπὶ ηὴλ ἀξεηὴλ ὅηη ἔζηηλ, θαὶ πάιηλ

ἐπηζθέςαζζαη πεξὶ αηνῦ εἴηε δηδαθηὸλ εἴηε κὴ δηδαθηόλ, κὴ πνιιάθηο

ἡκο ὁ πηκεζεὺο ἐθεῖλνο θαὶ ἐλ ηῇ ζθέςεη ζθήιῃ ἐμαπαηήζαο, ὥζπεξ

θαὶ ἐλ ηῇ δηαλνκῇ ἠκέιεζελ ἡκῶλ, ὡο θῂο ζύ. ἤξεζελ νὖλ κνη θαὶ ἐλ ηῷ

κύζῳ ὁ Πξνκεζεὺο κιινλ ηνῦ πηκεζέσο· ᾧ ρξώκελνο ἐγὼ θαὶ

πξνκεζνύκελνο πὲξ ηνῦ βίνπ ηνῦ ἐκαπηνῦ παληὸο πάληα ηαῦηα

πξαγκαηεύνκαη, θαὶ εἰ ζὺ ἐζέινηο, ὅπεξ θαὶ θαη‘ ἀξρὰο ἔιεγνλ, κεηὰ ζνῦ

ἂλ ἥδηζηα ηαῦηα ζπλδηαζθνπνίελ.

Now, Protagoras, seeing that we have gotten this topsy-turvy and terribly

confused, I am most eager to clear it all up, and I would like us, having

come this far, to continue until we come through to what virtue is in itself,

and then to return to inquire about whether it can or cannot be taught, so

that Epimetheus might not frustrate us a second time in this inquiry, as he

neglected us in the distribution of powers and abilities in your story. I

liked the Prometheus character in your story better than Epimetheus.

Since I take Promethean forethought over my life, as I said at the

beginning, I would be pleased to investigate them along with you. (Prot.

361 c-d)

Whereas initially Protagoras‘ tale seemed to compare Protagoras with Zeus, here Socrates

likens himself to Prometheus. This casts Socrates as a trickster out to dupe Protagoras.

While Socrates‘ comparison derives from the forethought he uses to govern his life, for

Lucian, the comparison is to the novelty of his works and it is within this context that we

discover Lucian‘s tricks. Though it is hard to say if the comparison between Lucian and

the titan invoked the end of the Protagoras for Lucian‘s audience, it does represent a

Platonic precedent for Lucian‘s comparison and one that, if recognized, recalls Plato as

we explore Lucian‘s claims to have resolved the generic tension between Old Comedy

and Platonic dialogue.

Though initially appearing to be nothing more than a misunderstood compliment,

90

the comparison to Prometheus is for the most part unacceptable to Lucian.85

While he

acknowledges that, like Prometheus, he is a craftsman, he rejects many of the other

possible attributes of the titan, in particular the image of Prometheus as a creator. As he

explains, originality must be rooted in tradition: ―ἐκνὶ δὲ ν πάλπ ἱθαλόλ, εἰ θαηλνπνηεῖλ

δνθνίελ, κεδὲ ἔρνη ηηο ιέγεηλ ἀξραηόηεξόλ ηη ηνῦ πιάζκαηνο νὗ ηνῦην ἀπόγνλόλ ἐζηηλ.‖

(For me, though, it‘s not really enough for someone to think I‘m original, and to be

unable to point to something more ancient than my creation, of which, as it were, the

offspring, Lit. Prom. 3). 86

As this statement suggests, Lucian‘s work is the offspring of

two traditions, Old Comedy and that Platonic dialogue, and, as such, it resolves their

generic tension –first initiated by Aristophanes‘ Clouds and reaffirmed in Plato‘s

Apology.

According to Lucian, the two genres were for a long time at odds with one

another: 87

Ο πάλπ γνῦλ ζπλήζε θαὶ θίια ἐμ ἀξρῆο ἦλ ὁ δηάινγνο θαὶ ἡ θσκῳδία, εἴ

γε ὁ κὲλ νἴθνη θαζ‘ ἑαπηὸλ θαὶ λὴ Γία ἐλ ηνῖο πεξηπάηνηο κεη‘ ὀιίγσλ ηὰο

δηαηξηβὰο ἐπνηεῖην, ἡ δὲ παξαδνῦζα ηῷ Γηνλύζῳ ἑαπηὴλ ζεάηξῳ ὡκίιεη

θαὶ μπλέπαηδε θαὶ ἐγεισηνπνίεη θαὶ ἐπέζθσπηε θαὶ ἐλ ῥπζκῷ ἔβαηλε πξὸο

αιὸλ ἐλίνηε θαὶ ηὸ ὅινλ ἀλαπαίζηνηο κέηξνηο ἐπνρνπκέλε ηὰ πνιιά. ηνὺο

δὲ ηνῦ δηαιόγνπ ἑηαίξνπο ἐριεύαδε θξνληηζηὰο θαὶ κεηεσξνιέζραο θαὶ ηὰ

ηνηαῦηα πξνζαγνξεύνπζα. θαὶ κίαλ ηαύηελ πξναίξεζηλ ἐπεπνίεην ἐθείλνπο

ἐπηζθώπηεηλ θαὶ ηὴλ Γηνλπζηαθὴλ ἐιεπζεξίαλ θαηαρεῖλ αηῶλ, ἄξηη κὲλ

ἀεξνβαηνῦληαο δεηθλύνπζα θαὶ λεθέιαηο μπλόληαο, ἄξηη δὲ ςπιιῶλ

πεδήκαηα δηακεηξνῦληαο, ὡο δῆζελ ηὰ ἀέξηα ιεπηνινγνπκέλνπο. ὁ

δηάινγνο δὲ ζεκλνηάηαο ἐπνηεῖην ηὰο ζπλνπζίαο θύζεώο ηε πέξη θαὶ

ἀξεηῆο θηινζνθῶλ.

It has to be said that dialogue and comedy were not firmly compatible

85

For a discussion of the figure of Prometheus throughout Lucian‘s corpus, see Romm (1990). 86

I am relying on Sidwell‘s 2005 translation of the prologue with a few emendations. 87

As I discussed in the previous section, the concept of uniting a serious genre with a comic one is not

unique to Lucian, see Plato‘s Symposium 223d.

91

friends when they started out. One (Dialogue) stayed at home and kept to

himself, or spent time with a few associates in the shaded walks. The other

(Comedy) gave herself up to Dionysus and spent time in the theatre,

having a ball, raising laughs and making snide remarks about people. She

walked in rhythms, sometimes accompanied by the pipe, riding high on

anapaestic meters, spending most of her time rubbishing the companions

of Dialogue by calling them ‗thinksters‘ and ‗air heads‘ and the like. The

only reason she had for living was to deride them and pour down the

license of the Dionysia festival over them, sometimes showing them

walking on air and consorting with clouds, sometimes measuring the

distance a flea can jump, actually discussing in great detail airy nonsense.

Dialogue, on the other hand, kept his social affairs strictly above board,

philosophizing about nature and virtue. (Lit. Prom. 6)

The description in this passage directly recalls the Clouds and, consequently, places the

culpability for the quarrel firmly in the hands of comedy, reminding us of Socrates‘

position in the Apology: 88

Ἀλαιάβσκελ νὖλ ἐμ ἀξρῆο ηίο ἡ θαηεγνξία ἐζηὶλ ἐμ ἧο ἡ ἐκὴ δηαβνιὴ

γέγνλελ, ᾗ δὴ θαὶ πηζηεύσλ Μέιεηόο κε ἐγξάςαην ηὴλ γξαθὴλ ηαύηελ.

εἶελ· ηί δὴ ιέγνληεο δηέβαιινλ νἱ δηαβάιινληεο; ὥζπεξ νὖλ θαηεγόξσλ

ηὴλ ἀλησκνζίαλ δεῖ ἀλαγλῶλαη αηῶλ· ―σθξάηεο ἀδηθεῖ θαὶ

πεξηεξγάδεηαη δεηῶλ ηά ηε πὸ γῆο θαὶ νξάληα θαὶ ηὸλ ἥηησ ιόγνλ

θξείηησ πνηῶλ θαὶ ἄιινπο ηαηὰ ηαῦηα δηδάζθσλ.‖ ηνηαύηε ηίο ἐζηηλ·

ηαῦηα γὰξ ἑσξηε θαὶ αηνὶ ἐλ ηῇ Ἀξηζηνθάλνπο θσκῳδίᾳ, σθξάηε ηηλὰ

ἐθεῖ πεξηθεξόκελνλ, θάζθνληά ηε ἀεξνβαηεῖλ θαὶ ἄιιελ πνιιὴλ θιπαξίαλ

θιπαξνῦληα...

Let‘s take up from the beginning the content of the charge that has brought

about this slander against me. Meletus believed it and then brought this

indictment against me. What is it that they say when they slander me,

those slanderers? Now I must read aloud my accuser‘s affidavit, as it were.

―Socrates does injustice and is a busybody by studying the things above

and below the earth, by making the weaker argument the stronger, and

teaching others these same things.‖ It‘s something like this. You saw this

for yourselves in the comedy of Aristophanes that a certain Socrates was

swinging around up there in the basket, claiming to walk on air and

spouting all sorts of other nonsense… (19a-b)

Lucian differentiates his innovation from that of Prometheus on the basis that it is derived

88

Sidwell (2005: 353 n.5).

92

from a traditional conflict embodied in the Clouds and the Apology. The characterization

of his craft along these lines thus makes it all the more surprising when, at the prologue‘s

conclusion, he compares his literary creation to Prometheus‘ sacrifice trick: ―ἐμαπαηῶλ

ἴζσο ηνὺο ἀθνύνληαο θαὶ ὀζη παξαζεὶο αηνῖο θεθαιπκκέλα ηῇ πηκειῇ, γέισηα θσκηθὸλ

πὸ ζεκλόηεηη θηινζόθῳ.‖ (Maybe it‘s that I‘ve deceived my audiences by giving them a

feast of bones covered in fat, I mean, comic laughter hidden under philosophy‘s

solemnity,‖ Lit. Prom. 7) While we might expect comedy here to represent the fat that

lures us in only to have the bones of philosophy stick in our teeth, Lucian throws us for a

loop and defies our expectations. Just like the ends of the Heracles and the Dionysus,

such a statement not only puts us on our guard regarding the text that presumably would

have followed this prologue, it also makes us reconsider everything that has preceded it.

With this in mind, I will now return to the beginning of the Literary Prometheus and

examine how Lucian‘s final trick affects our interpretation of this text.

The initial comparison drawn between Lucian and Prometheus, though presumably

intended to be a compliment, is taken by Lucian as an accusation of sorts:89

―Οθνῦλ

Πξνκεζέα κε εἶλαη θήο;‖ (So you‘re claiming that I‘m a Prometheus, are you? Lit. Prom.

1). Like Socrates before him, Lucian blames his unnamed interlocutor‘s

misunderstanding, just as we saw in the Dionysus. Yet, in the case of Socrates, it is

impossible to know whether the historical figure in fact blamed Aristophanes for his fate.

Plato‘s inclusion of Aristophanes among Socrates first accusers consequently has a

programmatic feel, not unlike his juxtaposition of tragedy and comedy in the characters

89

Branham (1989:40).

93

of Agathon and Aristophanes in the Symposium.90

For Lucian, the original compliment

to Prometheus is an insult, and his rejection of it allows him to highlight the fact that

someone paid him the compliment of comparing him to god, and then, by rejecting that

complement, to assert that he deserves even higher praise.91

Lucian thus uses the words

of this unnamed interlocutor to have it both ways: he praises himself as truly innovative,

while at the same time situating himself in the context of the Greek literary tradition.

In his response to the various charges that a comparison to Prometheus entails,

Lucian mimics Socrates at the beginning of the Apology, when he simultaneously

disparages his own rhetorical abilities and skillfully turns the charge of being a clever

speaker back on his opponents. To briefly summarize the opening of the Apology,

Socrates begins by addressing the accusation that he is a clever and therefore dangerous

speaker:

κάιηζηα δὲ αηῶλ ἓλ ἐζαύκαζα ηῶλ πνιιῶλ ὧλ ἐςεύζαλην, ηνῦην ἐλ ᾧ

ἔιεγνλ ὡο ρξῆλ κο ειαβεῖζζαη κὴ π‘ ἐκνῦ ἐμαπαηεζῆηε ὡο δεηλνῦ

ὄληνο ιέγεηλ. ηὸ γὰξ κὴ αἰζρπλζῆλαη ὅηη αηίθα π‘ ἐκνῦ ἐμειεγρζήζνληαη

ἔξγῳ, ἐπεηδὰλ κεδ‘ ὁπσζηηνῦλ θαίλσκαη δεηλὸο ιέγεηλ, ηνῦηό κνη ἔδνμελ

αηῶλ ἀλαηζρπληόηαηνλ εἶλαη, εἰ κὴ ἄξα δεηλὸλ θαινῦζηλ νὗηνη ιέγεηλ ηὸλ

ηἀιεζῆ ιέγνληα· εἰ κὲλ γὰξ ηνῦην ιέγνπζηλ, ὁκνινγνίελ ἂλ ἔγσγε ν θαηὰ

ηνύηνπο εἶλαη ῥήησξ.

I wondered most at one of the many falsehoods they told, when they said

that you should beware that you are not deceived by me, since I am a

clever speaker. They are not ashamed that I will immediately refute them

in deed, as soon as it becomes apparent that I am not a clever speaker at

all, this seemed to me to be most shameless of them, unless of course they

call a clever speaker the one who speaks the truth. For if this is what they

are saying, then I too would agree that I am an orator—but not of their

90

For another example of this juxtaposition, see the opening of the Phaedo and Socrates‘ claim to have

written poems from Aesop‘s fables and a hymn to Apollo, (60d). 91

For a discussion of how to praise oneself without appearing overly self-important, see Plutarch On

Inoffensive Self-Praise. As Plutarch notes, one acceptable situation is if you are defending your name or

refuting a charge, (540 C).

94

sort. (Apol. 17a-b)

Though Socrates initially resists this charge and the negative connotations that the

adjective δεηλόο conveys, he accepts the term if it refers to the fact that he is speaking the

truth, implying of course that his accusers are liars. Socrates then deflects the original

charge back onto his accusers and, in doing so, defines his own style of speaking in

contradistinction to theirs:

νὗηνη κὲλ νὖλ, ὥζπεξ ἐγὼ ιέγσ, ἤ ηη ἢ νδὲλ ἀιεζὲο εἰξήθαζηλ, κεῖο δέ

κνπ ἀθνύζεζζε πζαλ ηὴλ ἀιήζεηαλ—ν κέληνη κὰ Γία, ὦ ἄλδξεο

Ἀζελαῖνη, θεθαιιηεπεκέλνπο γε ιόγνπο, ὥζπεξ νἱ ηνύησλ, ῥήκαζί ηε θαὶ

ὀλόκαζηλ νδὲ θεθνζκεκέλνπο, ἀιι‘ ἀθνύζεζζε εἰθῇ ιεγόκελα ηνῖο

ἐπηηπρνῦζηλ ὀλόκαζηλ—πηζηεύσ γὰξ δίθαηα εἶλαη ἃ ιέγσ—θαὶ κεδεὶο

κῶλ πξνζδνθεζάησ ἄιισο…

So they, as I say, have said little or nothing true, while for me you will

hear the whole truth—but by Zeus, men of Athens, not beautifully spoken

speeches like theirs, adorned with choice phrases and words; rather what

you hear will be spoken at random in the words that I happen upon –for I

trust that the things I say are just –none of you expect otherwise… (Apol.

17b-c)

As Clay has noted, the Apology is a defense of Socrates‘ philosophical mission.92

Cast as

Lucian‘s literary defense, the Literary Prometheus similarly offers a defense of Lucian‘s

literary and philosophical mission, namely the innovation of uniting Platonic dialogue

and comedy in a traditional light.

Though the connection to the Apology is admittedly subtle, the opening of the

Literary Prometheus echoes the rhetorical movement of the Apology‘s exordium in three

distinct ways. Like Socrates before him, Lucian downplays his style in comparison to his

opponents, refuses the label of clever, and ultimately turns such connotations back onto

92

Clay (2000: 43).

95

his opponents. Lucian thus imitates the type of arguments made by Socrates rather than

alluding to specific language. As such, Lucian indicates that his approach to the literary

tradition goes beyond explicit lexical allusions into the realm of more complex forms of

mimesis.

Lucian believes that the comparison to Prometheus was a backhanded compliment.

While he initially admits that like Prometheus he is a craftsman, the comparison allows

Lucian to downplay his own skill as a writer just as Socrates does in regard to his own

rhetorical talents:

εἰ κὲλ θαηὰ ηνῦην, ὦ ἄξηζηε, ὡο πειίλσλ θἀκνὶ ηῶλ ἔξγσλ ὄλησλ, γλσξίδσ

ηὴλ εἰθόλα θαί θεκη ὅκνηνο εἶλαη αηῷ, νδ‘ ἀλαίλνκαη πεινπιάζνο

ἀθνύεηλ, εἰ θαὶ θαπιόηεξνο ἐκνὶ ὁ πειὸο νἷνο ἐθ ηξηόδνπ, βόξβνξόο ηηο

παξὰ κηθξόλ.

Perhaps, my dear man, you mean that, like him, I also fashion my works

from clay. If so, I recognize the point of comparison. I am like him. I

don‘t deny that I‘m a potter, even if the clay I use is inferior, from the

crossroads you might say, and next of kin to mud. (Lit. Prom. 1)

As Romm has shown, the image of a sculptor is a favorite of Lucian‘s when discussing

his own literary craft.93

Within the metaphor of the craftsman drawn here, Lucian‘s

―clay‖ must in a sense refer to the literary tradition from which he molds his works. His

clay, however, comes from the crossroads, and Lucian here highlights the intermingling

of different elements which itself looks ahead to his union of comedy and philosophical

dialogue. Lucian thus ironically downplays his work at the same time as he hints at its

complexity, suggesting that recognition of its complex nature is essential if one is to

avoid falling for his trick.

93

Romm (1990:75-76).

96

While the label of craftsman is acceptable to Lucian, like Socrates he dismisses the

idea that he is clever:

εἰ δὲ πεξεπαηλῶλ ηνὺο ιόγνπο ὡο δῆζελ εκεράλνπο ὄληαο ηὸλ

ζνθώηαηνλ ηῶλ Σηηάλσλ ἐπηθεκίδεηο αηνῖο, ὅξα κή ηηο εἰξσλείαλ θῇ θαὶ

κπθηῆξα νἷνλ ηὸλ Ἀηηηθὸλ πξνζεῖλαη ηῷ ἐπαίλῳ. ἢ πόζελ γὰξ εκήραλνλ

ηνκόλ; ηίο δὲ ἡ πεξηηηὴ ζνθία θαὶ πξνκήζεηα ἐλ ηνῖο γξάκκαζηλ;

On the other hand, if you‘re applying the name of the cleverest of the

Titans to my works as a way of praising them –way above their merit –as

masterpieces of invention, there‘s a danger that people will think your

good opinion has a subtext rife with irony and the Old Attic nose-in-the-

air attitude. Go on, tell me where my inventiveness lies. What exactly is

the remarkable cleverness and Promethean quality my writings possess?

(Lit. Prom. 1)

In Socrates‘ speech, the adjective δεηλὸο denotes the charge of cleverness and potential

danger that some regarded Socrates as possessing. Though Lucian likewise rejects being

considered clever, his choice of the adjective ζνθόο indicates that he has a different type

of cleverness in mind. Whereas Socrates‘ language recalls the view that rhetoric

possesses a certain inherent danger, as illustrated by the debate between the Weaker and

Stronger arguments in the Clouds, Lucian‘s use of the adjective ζνθόο alongside

εκήραλνο suggests a concern with how something is said rather than what is in fact

being said. By pointing to this aspect of Prometheus‘ character, Lucian rejects notoriety

drawn generally from clever speaking. Whereas Socrates faced an Athenian audience

unwilling to accept new ideas, Lucian imagines himself facing an erudite audience who

refuse to do anything new, literarily speaking that is. While Lucian may be exaggerating

the unwillingness on his audience‘s part to accept novel literary pieces and styles, his

juxtaposition of the adjectives ζνθόο and εκήραλνο suggests that his annoyance is not

97

simply directed at his audience but other sophists. 94

The combination of these two

adjectives as well as the reference to Prometheus as the cleverest of the Titans thus calls

to mind the standard image of a sophist in this period as the addressees of this prologue

and we are perhaps reminded of Lucian‘s detractors in the Heracles or his description of

previous audiences in the Dionysus.95

By Lucian‘s time, a sophist was ―a public literary

performer‖ more than anything else, concerned in large part with displaying their

paideia.96

Such figures were able to recall large sections of works that they had learnt

from an early age. Although Lucian does not directly reference paideia here, his rejection

of the label of ζνθόο, in other words typical sophistic cleverness, is ultimately a rejection

of epideictic display, and more importantly of the categories of innovative and traditional.

As he goes on to suggest, it is precisely these types of sophist figures that he

imagines as his opponents. Drawing on the myth of creation and Prometheus‘ subsequent

theft of fire, Lucian deflects the label of Prometheus back onto his opponents, asserting

that the fiery nature of their speeches makes them deserving of such a characterization:

Καίηνη πόζῳ δηθαηόηεξνλ κεῖο ἂλ εἰθάδνηζζε ηῷ Πξνκεζεῖ, ὁπόζνη ἐλ

δίθαηο εδνθηκεῖηε μὺλ ἀιεζείᾳ πνηνύκελνη ηνὺο ἀγῶλαο. δῶα γνῦλ ὡο

ἀιεζῶο θαὶ ἔκςπρα κῖλ ηὰ ἔξγα, θαὶ λὴ Γία θαὶ ηὸ ζεξκὸλ αηῶλ ἐζηη

δηάππξνλ· θαὶ ηνῦην ἐθ ηνῦ Πξνκεζέσο ἂλ εἴε, πιὴλ εἰ κὴ ἑλὶ

δηαιιάηηνηηε, ὅηη κὴ ἐθ πεινῦ πιάηηεηε ἀιιὰ ρξπζ κῖλ ηνῖο πνιινῖο ηὰ

πιάζκαηα.

94

Other examples of novelties that seem to go against the established order can be found in Dio‘s assertion

that Homer was wrong about the Trojan War in the Trojan Oration and Aelius Aristides‘ choice to write

prose hymns to the gods. 95

For a discussion of what it meant to be a sophist, see Bowie (1970). For a summary of the types of

speeches given and performance venues, see esp. 5-6. 96

Branham, (1989: 222n.19). As Bowie explains, ―the term ―sophist‖ appears to be contained within the

term rhetor and to apply particularly to those teachers of rhetoric (rhetors) whose attainment was of such a

level as to give public performances.‖ Bowie (1970:4).

98

Anyhow, it would be much more reasonable to make the Prometheus

comparison with you people who have great reputations in trials of

conducting cases in accordance with the dictates of truth. What you create

is really living and breathing, and, by Zeus, its heat is intense. Now that is

Promethean, except for one thing, of course, that it isn‘t from clay that

most of your creations are made, but from pure gold. (Lit. Prom. 1)

Lucian here further distances himself from his opponents, whom he sarcastically depicts

in legal terms (ἐλ δίθαηο εδνθηκεῖηε μὺλ ἀιεζείᾳ πνηνύκελνη ηνὺο ἀγῶλαο). Since it is

unlikely that Lucian here is addressing only the people of his audience associated with

the courts, his characterization of his opponents in legal terms raises interesting questions

regarding the performative context of this speech. As Bowie notes, the oratory of the law

courts had at this time fallen out of fashion and was often looked down upon by the

sophists of this period. While this reference to his opponents seems to ascribe to this

belief, it also heightens the sense that Lucian sees himself, like Socrates, as in some way

on trial for his craft by people who seem to have a different conception of truth (ἀιεζείᾳ)

than his own. Yet as Lucian remarks rather sarcastically, the label of Prometheus

ultimately fails to characterize them accurately since they mold their works from gold.97

Such an image calls to mind that of a speaker with a golden tongue. Just as Socrates

deflected the charge back onto his accusers, Lucian takes his opponents‘ attempt to

compliment him and turns it into a way of insulting them. Though he refers to the

truthful quality of their work, the praise is ultimately sarcastic, reinforcing Lucian as the

source for truth, albeit a rather slippery one.

By focusing on the opening arguments of this prologue, I have attempted to show

that Lucian mimics the types of ironic arguments made by Socrates at the opening of the

97

Romm interprets this as referring to the monetary gain of lawyers, (1990: 82).

99

Apology and, in so doing, defines his literary craft. Although Lucian‘s arguments make

the same rhetorical moves as Socrates‘, Lucian never directly refers to the Apology,

indicating that his approach is not to attempt to rewrite Plato but rather to rework and

rewrite them into something new. As he indicates, this is not the case for his opponents.

The connection to Socrates, however, is not as straightforward as it initially

appeared. In his initial dismissal of the label of ζνθόο, Lucian warns his audience that

their praise carries with it the potential subtext of Socratic irony: ―ὅξα κή ηηο εἰξσλείαλ

θῇ θαὶ κπθηῆξα νἷνλ ηὸλ Ἀηηηθὸλ πξνζεῖλαη ηῷ ἐπαίλῳ,‖ (there‘s a danger that people

will think your good opinion has a subtext rife with irony and the Old Attic nose-in-the-

air attitude, Lit. Prom. 1). While Lucian‘s rejection of the label of ζνθόο recalls Socrates‘

own disavowal of knowledge,98

his use of εἰξσλεία, a word that the LSJ notes directly

recalls Socrates, as a descriptive term for his opponents similarly alludes to one of

Socrates‘ more distinct character traits.99

Such a statement suggests that Lucian‘s

opponents are not attacking him in a new way, but are, like Lucian, using Socratic irony

as their weapon. Lucian further reinforces their reliance on traditional modes of attack by

attributing to them a line from Old Comedy. By characterizing his opponents along such

similar lines as his own self-portrait, Lucian emphasizes that the difference lies not in

their respective source material but rather in their approach to it. In other words, though

Lucian may likewise invoke Socrates and Aristophanes, he does not slavishly quote

either author, but instead melds them into something new and uniquely his own.

98

See Plato Apol. 21D. For a discussion of Socrates‘ disavowal of knowledge, see Vlastos (1991: 31-66). 99

LSJ s.v. εἰξσλεία A. ―dissimulation, i.e. ignorance purposely affected to provoke or confound an

antagonist, a mode of argument used by Socrates against the Sophist…‖ For a discussion of the figure of

the eirôn in Theophrastus, see Worman (2008: 301-304).

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Lucian further reinforces his opponent‘s reliance on traditional modes of attack

by attributing to them a line from Old Comedy. As Lucian imagines, his opponents had

similar intentions to the comic poets when they attacked Cleon:

ὥζηε κνη ἐλζπκεῖζζαη ἔπεηζη κὴ ἄξα νὕησ κε Πξνκεζέα ιέγεηο εἶλαη ὡο ὁ

θσκηθὸο ηὸλ Κιέσλα· θεζὶλ δέ, νἶζζα, πεξὶ αηνῦ·

Κιέσλ Πξνκεζεύο ἐζηη κεηὰ ηὰ πξάγκαηα. So I suppose I‘m wondering whether you might mean by calling me a

Prometheus what the comic poet said about Cleon. I think the quotation

about him goes:

Cleon‘s a Prometheus after the fact. (Lit. Prom. 2)100

Little is known about this allusion and, although it has been ascribed to Eupolis in the

past, recently it has been attributed to Aristophanes‘ lost Farmers.101

It would be useful

to know the original context of this line, but it is notable that Lucian once again ascribes a

direct allusion to his opponents. These two moments thus reinforce the earlier

characterization of them as a typical sophist concerned with displays of paideia.

As Lucian‘s arguments progress, he invokes the rhetorical trope of imagining

what someone among his opponents might be thinking: ―And yet someone who wanted to

console me might say, ‗No, this wasn‘t the basis of the comparison with Prometheus at

all. What he‘s praising is your originality, the fact that you had no model to work to…‖

(Lit. Prom. 3). Up till now, the unnamed interlocutor who made the mistake of comparing

Lucian to Prometheus has been characterized as Lucian‘s opponent. Lucian here allows

another unnamed figure to come to his original interlocutor‘s rescue and attempt to

reassure Lucian that the comparison was intended to compliment his innovation. As

100

Ades. 461 PCG = Eup. Fr. 456 K. Though the preposition here is κεηὰ not ἐπὶ, the line seems to be

punning on the Prometheus and Epimetheus distinction (forethought versus afterthought). 101

Gargiulo (1992:161). Romm interprets this allusion as referring the Cleon‘s notorious fickleness, see

Romm (1990:91-2).

101

Lucian‘s previous characterization of these figures has suggested, they fancy themselves

literati, well versed in the literary tradition and their compliment of Lucian‘s innovation

must assume that he is not. Lucian‘s response to these figures throughout this prologue

has thus been intended to emphasize that he is as well versed in the tradition as these

figures and on top of that, he is far cleverer than they are.

While scholars such as Branham and Anderson are right to characterize this text

as Lucian‘s rejection of being an innovator, it is a rejection not necessarily of all

innovation but the dichotomy of innovation or tradition that his interlocutors have

established. Lucian illustrates this point with a tale about how a certain Ptolemy

attempted to impress an audience with a jet-black camel dressed in purple and gold robes

and a black and white man. To Ptolemy‘s surprise, his audience scorned and mocked

such novelties for their lack of beauty and harmony. As a result, the camel died of neglect

and the man was sold into slavery (Lit. Prom. 4). At this point in the prologue, Lucian

momentarily drops the vitriolic tone because he worries that his works might suffer a

similar fate to Ptolemy‘s camel:

Γέδνηθα δὲ κὴ θαὶ ηνκὸλ θάκεινο ἐλ Αἰγππηίνηο ᾖ, νἱ δὲ ἄλζξσπνη ηὸλ

ραιηλὸλ ἔηη αηῆο ζαπκάδσζη θαὶ ηὴλ ἁινπξγίδα, ἐπεὶ νδὲ ηὸ ἐθ δπνῖλ

ηνῖλ θαιιίζηνηλ ζπγθεῖζζαη, δηαιόγνπ θαὶ θσκῳδίαο, νδὲ ηνῦην ἀπόρξε

εἰο εκνξθίαλ, εἰ κὴ θαὶ ἡ κῖμηο ἐλαξκόληνο θαὶ θαηὰ ηὸ ζύκκεηξνλ

γίγλνηην.

I‘m afraid my work may be a camel among the Egyptians, so to speak.

What people admire is its bit and purple saddle. Even the fact that is made

up of two absolutely splendid things, dialogue and comedy, I mean, will be

insufficient to create beauty, unless the mixture is harmonious and

measured. (Lit. Prom. 5)

As Lucian goes on to explain, even if they are composed of originally beautiful things,

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not all generic hybrids will possess beauty, and Lucian cites drunk and murderous

hippocentaur as an obvious (ηὸ πξνρεηξόηαηνλ) illustration of his point. In other words, it

is not the material or the subject matter that is important, but how it is executed.

Lucian thus does not reject innovation by its very nature, but only if the label of

innovator implies that his works lack the beauty and grace of the more traditional works.

For as he admits at the end of this text, he is an innovator:

ηὸ γὰξ ηῆο θιεπηηθῆο—θαὶ γὰξ θιεπηηθῆο ὁ ζεόο—ἄπαγε. ηνῦην κόλνλ

νθ ἂλ εἴπνηο ἐλεῖλαη ηνῖο ἡκεηέξνηο. ἢ παξὰ ηνῦ γὰξ ἂλ ἐθιέπηνκελ; εἰ κὴ

ἄξα ηηο ἐκὲ δηέιαζελ ηνηνύηνπο ἱππνθάκπνπο θαὶ ηξαγειάθνπο θαὶ αηὸο

ζπληεζεηθώο.

As to the charge of theft –also made against the same god –come off it!

This at least is something you can‘t say my works are guilty of. Who

could I have stolen from? Of course, I may be mistaken. Someone else

has also possibly put together a set of sea horses and goat-stags like these.

(Lit. Prom. 7)

In rejecting this type of innovation, Lucian is characterizing his own approach to

traditionalism as anything but the way in which he sees his contemporaries alluding to

and following the canon.

If we now return to Lucian‘s discussion of Prometheus‘ sacrifice trick, we can

begin to make sense of the meaning behind this metaphor. Lucian‘s reconfiguration of

Prometheus‘ trick warns us against the types of traditional approaches of his

contemporaries and that Lucian achieves this warning through the way in which he

subverts or expectations. In the Dionysus we saw how Lucian asks his audience to look

beyond the comic surface of his text and we might expect Lucian to be doing much the

same here. Yet, as he reveals, it is philosophical dialogue that represents the fat and

comedy the bones. As I read this metaphor, there are two possible levels of

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interpretation. On the one hand, the philosophical fat is the veneer of philosophy,

suggestive of the images of charlatan philosophers drawn by Lucian in such texts as the

Fisherman who, as we will see, quote philosophers but lack any philosophical

substance.102

Within this reading, the comic bones thus represent the ridicule Lucian

inflicts on such people. Read as such, this metaphor characterizes Lucian‘s opponents as

offering nothing digestible and Lucian as the true source of meat. Yet if we read this

metaphor as a programmatic statement about Lucian‘s craft, we can see that the aspects

drawn from dialogue might lure us in, but it is the comic elements that truly stick in our

teeth. While in both readings Lucian appears to emphasize the comic over the

philosophic, he leaves us wondering where the meat is.

To get a better understanding of Lucian‘s metaphor, let us look briefly at Hesiod‘s

version of Prometheus‘ sacrifice trick. According to Hesiod, Prometheus, who was

intending to mislead Zeus, carved up an ox into two different portions: one for Zeus and

one for mankind. In one portion Prometheus concealed meat within the ox‘s stomach,

while in the other he concealed bones with fat. As Hesiod explains, however, Zeus

recognized the trick and nonetheless chose the fat-covered bones: ―Ζεὺο δ‘ ἄθζηηα κήδεα

εἰδὼο / γλῶ ῥ‘ νδ‘ ἠγλνίεζε δόινλ·‖ (But Zeus, whose designs do not fail, recognized

the trick and did not mistake it, Theogony 550-1). By making us aware of his trick,

Lucian places us in a position analogous to Zeus‘ in that we recognize the trick and we

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Lucian‘s persona, Parrhesiades, complains the following about his contemporary philosophers: ―Καὶ γὰξ

αὖ θαὶ ηόδε πάλησλ ἀηνπώηαηόλ ἐζηηλ, ὅηη ηνὺο κὲλ ιόγνπο κῶλ πάλπ ἀθξηβνῦζηλ νἱ πνιινὶ αηῶλ,

θαζάπεξ δὲ ἐπὶ ηνῦην κόλνλ ἀλαγηγλώζθνληεο αηνὺο θαὶ κειεηῶληεο, ὡο ηἀλαληία ἐπηηεδεύνηελ, νὕησο

βηνῦζηλ.‖ (It is most extraordinary too, that most of them are thoroughly up on your writings, but live as if

they read and studied them simply to practice the reverse, 34).

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choose Lucian‘s offering anyway. The meat, or rather its absence, presumably in this

context refers to other performers whom we might have chosen and from whom we might

have gotten simple enjoyment. This is not the case for Lucian who announces in this

final metaphor that his work is itself a deception that we must think carefully about. This

deception, however, is ultimately a joke, and one that is at our expense, since we have

chosen Lucian. If we accept the conventional belief that this text is an introduction to a

longer performance piece, then we can see Lucian here boldly asserting to his audience

that in choosing to listen to his performance they have not chosen the easy meat and must

play careful attention to whatever piece may have followed this prologue.

V. Conclusions

The Literary Prometheus thus represents Lucian‘s own comic take on Plato‘s Apology. In

comparison to Socrates, who had real accusers and was actually put on trial, Lucian is an

entertainer of sorts who may or may not have actually been accused of being a

―Prometheus.‖ As both the author and its orator, Lucian thus casts himself as a

conflation of Socrates and Plato but with a comic twist. While Lucian‘s debt to Plato in

this text may be what lures us in, it is Lucian‘s final comic take on Prometheus‘ sacrifice

trick that sticks in our proverbial teeth. In this introductory speech, Lucian defines his

approach to his inherited literary tradition in terms of what he is not, namely a slavish

follower. Lucian instead characterizes his own innovative approach to traditionalism not

by explicitly spelling it out for his audience, but rather through the very act of doing it. In

modeling his own defense speech on Plato‘s Apology, Lucian manages to leave us

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contemplating the role of mimesis in his works as he commences whatever work

followed this prologue.

The distaste for the label of innovator that Lucian expresses in this prologue

seems initially at odds with the view of it found in the Heracles. Yet in both texts Lucian

expresses annoyance at those he views as his contemporaries, who are for the most part

characterized by their lack of understanding and slavish quoting of such authors as

Homer and Euripides. Like in the Dionysus, Lucian here commands his audience to look

beyond the surface of the text. Though these texts lack the type of questioning that

Plato‘s Socrates was so famous for, they nonetheless incite the audience to actively

question not only what Lucian is telling them but also the world around them. In this

way, Lucian‘s union of Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue as expressed in the Literary

Prometheus extends beyond obvious lexical allusions and generic rules. In his discussion

of the Literary Prometheus, Romm asserts that the conflict between mimesis and

innovation remains unresolved at the end of the Literary Prometheus and that Lucian

―ruefully‖ accepts his role as an innovator.103

While I do not disagree with Romm that

Lucian does accept this role, his acceptance is not because he cannot resolve the conflict

but because he has. What makes Lucian innovative is not simply his Celtic representation

of Heracles or his hippocentaurs, but the way in which he not only invokes previous

authors in his works, but also actively engages with them. It is this approach to the

literary tradition that allows Lucian to cast his works as not only novel, but also necessary

for highlighting the problems of the world around him.

103

Romm (1990: 85).

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Chapter 2

Lucian on the Defensive:

The Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted as Apologies for Old Comedy

In the previous chapter, I argued that Lucian‟s prologues imitate the Aristophanic

parabasis in three distinct ways: they are speeches given outside the context of the main

performance; they react to Lucian‟s competitors and critics; and, most importantly for our

discussion, they comically engage with the traditionally serious genres of epic, tragedy,

and philosophical dialogue. Lucian‟s prologues are thus significant for our understanding

of his comic dialogues because, like a parabasis, they offer Lucian‟s commentary on his

comic reinvention of the philosophic dialogue. As we saw in the Literary Prometheus,

Lucian ironically defends this comic recasting of philosophy by mimicking Plato‟s

Apology. The Apology consequently represents a key text for Lucian in that he invokes it

both as one of the origins of the conflict between comedy and philosophy that he claims

to have resolved and as a model for his defense of that union. In this chapter we will look

more closely at the dual role that the Apology plays as both the source of and solution to

Lucian‟s problem of uniting comedy with philosophy, which will raise the following

question that has heretofore been left unaddressed by scholars: why does Lucian feel the

need to repeatedly defend his union of Old Comedy and Philosophical dialogue?1

1 For a collection of comic fragments depicting philosophers, see Olson (2007: 227-56)

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In the introduction to this dissertation, we saw how Old Comedy‟s status as a

potentially problematic genre stems not just from Plato‟s comments regarding its

incompatibility with philosophy, but also from its lack of the original sanction that it had

in the Athens of the fourth and fifth centuries. As Plutarch‟s, Dio‟s, and Aristides‟

discussions suggested, Old Comedy was viewed, at least by some, as a genre now

characterized by its crude style of humor and its role in the execution of Socrates.

Lucian especially calls our attention to these problems in the Fisherman and the Twice

Prosecuted, two texts in which he imagines that his persona is on trial for his comic

representations of philosophers. In the Fisherman, Socrates, Plato, and Diogenes return

from the dead to prosecute Lucian's persona, Parrhesiades, for his comic debasement of

philosophy, while in the Twice Prosecuted, Lucian's alter ego, the Syrian, is sued by

Rhetoric and Dialogue for his comic treatment of the respective genres. Both texts thus

represent Lucian‟s defense of his reliance on Old Comedy for a philosophical purpose

and the very act of putting his persona on trial has as its precedent Plato‟s Apology. While

scholars have long pointed to Lucian's references to Old Comedy and the Apology within

these texts, I will argue that these two texts represent Lucian‟s reinvention of the

philosophical apology as an apology for Old Comedy. 2

As such, they answer the charge

leveled at Old Comedy by Plato‟s Socrates and, in doing so, refute the critique of

Lucian‟s contemporaries by attributing philosophical value to the genre.

2 For a brief summary of the similarities between the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted and Old

Comedy, see Bowie (2007: 36). For discussion of the connections between the Fisherman and Plato‟s

Apology, see Whitmarsh (2001: 59-62). Though Whitmarsh‟s discussion does not treat the Twice

Prosecuted, the similarities between the two texts, namely the fact that both present the author‟s persona on

trial, allow the connection to be extended to include it.

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Though it is impossible to know if they were intended to be read next to one

another, the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted nevertheless form a nice pair. As we

will see, both texts adopt a narrative frame from Old Comedy that incorporates

recognizably Platonic material from various dialogues, including the Apology, the

Republic, and the Gorgias, to name just a few. Within this framework, Lucian then

replays the debate between Old Comedy and philosophy initially articulated by Plato and

later reaffirmed by Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides in such a way that imports a classical

tension into the world of contemporary philosophy. In doing this, he retains Old

Comedy‟s debunking power and the deep value of the Socratic persona as well as certain

Platonic tenets in order to reveal the shortcomings of his own intellectual milieu, in

particular the degradation of the philosophical schools at the hands of charlatan

philosophers. As these texts indicate, Lucian‟s responds to these problems by reinventing

Old Comedy as a philosophical genre, which militates against contemporary charlatan

philosophers by constantly posing harsh questions in the manner once embodied by the

figure of Socrates, as well as the Cynic and Skeptic traditions respectively. Read as

Lucian‟s apologies for Old Comedy, the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted invoke

Socrates in order to vindicate comedy against his attacks.

Old Comedy's negative reputation in the Second Sophistic is derived in part from

its role in the execution of Socrates. Socrates' condemnation of Old Comedy

consequently provides the fodder not only for the criticisms of Plutarch, Dio, and

Aristides discussed in the introduction but also for Lucian's defense of that genre in the

Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted. As I will argue in this section, the Fisherman and

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the Twice Prosecuted reinvent the trope of the philosophical Apology as an “Apology” of

Old Comedy. Lucian, however, reverses the scenario of Plato's text and makes “Old

Philosophy” play the part of the prosecution, in place of Aristophanes and Old Comedy.

Though the scenario of a figure on trial for his philosophic approach draws much of its

inspiration from Plato‟s text, Lucian models the trials of his personae on the structure of

the comic agon. By recasting the Apology through the lens of Old Comedy, Lucian thus

returns to one of the sources for the negative view of the genre and in doing so acquits

Old Comedy of its reputation as a genre hostile to philosophers by attributing

philosophical value to it.

In exploring Lucian‟s claim that his comic dialogues possess philosophic value, I

will divide my discussion between the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted to examine

how each of these texts respond to the negative views of Old Comedy analyzed in the

previous section. Turning first to the Fisherman, I will argue that at the heart of

Parrhesiades‟ trial is the question of what function can this long dead genre perform in

Lucian‟s contemporary society? The answer, as we will see, lies in the Cynic

appropriation of parrhesia, similar to that found in Dio‟s thirty-second discourse, the sole

positive view of Old Comedy discussed in the introduction. In contrast to the

Fisherman‟s focus on the appropriateness of Old Comedy, the Twice Prosecuted takes on

the charge that Old Comedy is hostile to philosophers and appealing only to the

uneducated. For as the Syrian argues in his two defense speeches, Old Comedy is the

tool by which he has saved the philosophical dialogue and, as he contends, he achieves

this precisely through its lowly focus. Such a focus allows him to return philosophy to

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the type of hard questioning once seen in the figure of Socrates and the subsequent

Skeptic tradition. As the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted reveal, Lucian is

dissatisfied by the current state of philosophy, which has been overrun by figures who

merely don the guise of a philosopher. By uniting philosophy with Old Comedy, Lucian

asserts in these texts that he is seeking to return philosophy to the ideals once embodied

by Plato‟s Socrates.

I. The Fisherman

The Fisherman begins with a familiar scene: an angry mob of dead philosophers shouts

stone him! Stone him! (βάιιε βάιιε) as they attack the solitary figure of Lucian’s

persona, Parrhesiades, standing before them. Among the mob are none other than

Socrates, Plato, and Diogenes, to name just a few. This opening scene recalls

Aristophanes’ Acharnians and the attacks Dikaiopolis suffered at the hands of the

Acharnian chorus for his betrayal of Athens. Within the context of Aristophanes’ play,

Dikaiopolis successfully escapes unharmed thus minimizing any fears we might have for

Parrhesiades’ safety. Unlike the Acharnians, however, the impetus of the philosophers’

attack on Parrhesiades is not a political issue, but rather a philosophical one: Lucian

debased philosophy in an earlier work, Philosophies for Sale, by comically auctioning

philosophers off for nickels and dimes in an imagined slave auction. At stake in this text

is Lucian's right to comic free speech or parrhesia, a virtue that he explores in terms of

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the comic and Cynic traditions.3 Lucian's presentation of his “Apology” for his re-

appropriation of comic parrhesia within the framework of the Acharnians, as well as

several other plays from Old Comedy, thus explores the role Old Comedy can play in

contemporary society. As we will see, the Fisherman answers the charge that comic

parrhesia represents a threat to philosophers by arguing that the Cynic appropriation of

the virtue means that no sanction is necessary for Lucian’s parrhesia.

Though scholars have long noted Lucian's debt to Old Comedy in the Fisherman

and the central role that parrhesia plays in that text, the full extent of Lucian's imitation

of the Acharnians and the ramifications that it has for our understanding of his approach

to philosophy have yet to be realized.4 In his brief discussion of this text, Branham

places particular emphasis on Lucian's selection of Parrhesiades as his spokesman. As he

explains, “in choosing the mask Lucian counters his critics from two traditional angles by

implying that he is not really anti-philosophical, since parrhesia is a celebrated Cynic

value, and that he is authorized to attack fakes anyway as the heir apparent of Old

Comedy.”5 For Branham, Parrhesiades' name and engagement with Diogenes as the

philosopher's elected prosecutor illustrates how Old Comic and Cynic influences come

together in Lucian's writings to create a literary style that attempts to recreate the style of

questioning initiated in the Socratic elenchus and continued in the Cynic diatribe.6 Yet in

Parrhesiades' engagement with Diogenes there is a problem that has heretofore been

3 As an ideal, parrhesia or frank speech is not exclusive to the comic and Cynic traditions. Philosophically

speaking, it was also revered as an important aspect of personal relationships among the Epicureans and

Stoics as opposed to the more public role attributed to it by the Cynics. See Foucault (2001: 108). 4 Branham (1989: 32-34). See also Whitmarsh (2001: 59-65).

5 Branham (1989: 33).

6 Branham (1989: 34).

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ignored, namely that Diogenes faults Parrhesiades for parrhesia, one of the central

virtues of the Cynic philosophy. This paradoxical representation of Diogenes, however,

is best viewed in the context of the other dead philosophers brought to life in this text. As

I will suggest, Lucian’s depiction of Plato, Socrates, Diogenes, and the other dead

philosophers need not represent his interpretation of the founders of Greek philosophy

but rather contemporary opinions about them. In other words, they are the spokesmen of

a view of the philosophical tradition as something to be respected and imitated, not unlike

the traditionalist views confronted by Lucian in the prologues discussed in chapter one.

By pitting his persona against this view, Lucian effectively challenges the contemporary

opinions we saw expressed in the previous section about how to approach the literary

canon, in particular the comic tradition.

To illustrate this point, my discussion will begin with an analysis of the roles that

Plato’s Apology and Old Comedy, in particular the Acharnians, assume in this text.

While the presence of the Apology serves to reignite the tension between Old Comedy

and philosophy, I will argue that Lucian mimics the structure and intertextuality of the

Acharnians’ agon to undermine the dead philosophers' authority by casting them in the

role of the comic chorus. Read in light of Aristophanes’ play, we can begin to see how

Diogenes as Parrhesiades’ prosecutor fails to fit the mold of the ideal Cynic philosopher,

suggesting that Lucian’s debt to the Cynic tradition in this text is more complex than

originally believed. Lucian’s focus in the Fisherman is consequently the problem of

philosophic corruption, a fact that is emphasized by the overall comic structure. As I will

argue, the Fisherman indicates that Lucian's solution to the philosophic problems of his

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day rests not in one single tradition, be it Old Comedy or Cynicism, but an amalgamation

of the two. This generic mixture allows Lucian to ascribe philosophic value to Old

Comedy, thus establishing a place for Old Comedy in society and refuting the belief that

Old Comedy is a dangerous genre, except of course when it comes to philosophical

poseurs.

As I mentioned above, Lucian derives the Fisherman’s scenario of a figure on

trial for his philosophic approach from Plato's Apology.7 Since Lucian's use of the

Apology in the Fisherman differs from what we saw in the Literary Prometheus, I will

briefly discuss the Fisherman‟s relationship to the Apology before turning to its imitation

of the Acharnians. In the previous chapter, we saw how Lucian invoked the Apology as

a means of debunking the characterization of him as innovative. The Fisherman, in

contrast, establishes the Apology and particularly its negative characterization of

Aristophanes as what Lucian must work against if he is philosophically to justify his

imitation of Old Comedy and as such rehabilitate the genre. In his analysis of the

Fisherman, Whitmarsh notes that the philosophers‟ concerns that Parrhesiades is a clever

speaker mimic Socrates own anxiety about the image of him drawn by his accusers (Fish.

7).8 For Whitmarsh, this is a sign of the way in which Lucian “ironically advertises his

own complicity in the mimetic identity-crisis of his age.”9 Though Whitmarsh is right

that Lucian walks a fine line between highlighting his innovation and following the

literary tastes of his day, I would argue here that Lucian attributes the views of the

7 Whitmarsh (2001: 263-4).

8 Whitmarsh (2001: 263). See Plato‟s Apology, 17a-b.

9 Whitmarsh (2001: 263-4).

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Apology to his critics because the Apology represents an important moment in which

comedy's relationship to philosophy becomes problematic. As we saw in our discussion

of the reception of Aristophanes in the Second Sophistic, many of the attacks leveled at

the poet stemmed from Socrates' blaming Aristophanes for the charges he faces. The

presence of arguments akin to those of the Apology in the speeches of the dead

philosophers thus characterize the dead philosophers not as the founders of Greek

philosophy, but as the source for the traditional view that Old Comedy is inappropriate.

As we will see, Lucian turns to Old Comedy, in particular to Aristophanes‟ Acharnians, to

challenge this view.

In presenting an “Apology” of Old Comedy, the Fisherman calls into question the

dead philosophers’ assertions by imitating the ways in which Aristophanes challenges the

authority of tragedy in the Acharnians. Since my discussion will focus primarily on two

moments within this text, the initial attack of the dead philosophers and Diogenes'

prosecution, let me briefly contextualize them within the plot of this text. As I mentioned

above, the Fisherman opens with the dead philosophers attack on Parrhesiades. After an

extended agon scene, Parrhesiades persuades them to try him for his crimes in front of

Philosophy and her companions, Truth (ἡ Ἀιήζεηά) and Elenchus (ὁ Ἔιεγρνο). The trial

is held on the Acropolis, a site that invokes the period of Athens’ history during which

Old Comedy was at its height as a genre. As the prosecutor, Diogenes charges that

Parrhesiades comically debased philosophy, not unlike Aristophanes’ and Eupolis'

treatment of Socrates, and did so without any kind of official sanction (Fish. 25). In his

response to these charges, Parrhesiades describes how he was initially attracted to

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philosophy only to be dismayed by the charlatan philosophers of his own times. His

mockery of philosophers accordingly was not directed at the dead philosophers but

contemporary ones. Parrhesiades' arguments are successful and he is subsequently

commissioned to rid Athens of such fake philosophers by fishing for them off of the

Acropolis.10

By the end of the Fisherman, the role of prosecutor, which was once held by

the dead philosophers, has been assumed by Parrhesiades, the original defendant, who is

now employing comedy to reveal the charlatan philosophers as the true enemies of

philosophy.

In the opening scene of the Fisherman, we find several allusions to Old Comedy

that illustrate Lucian’s attempts to validate his reliance on it. First, as Macleod has

already pointed out, the scenario of resurrected dead in a non-epic or Christian context

seems to have originated from Eupolis’ Demoi, in which Solon, Miltiades, Aristides, and

Pericles return from the dead to save Athens.11

While the return of the dead philosophers

is suggestive of Eupolis’ play, their collective attack on Parrhesiades recalls the first

appearance of the Acharnian chorus from Aristophanes’ Acharnians. To briefly

summarize Aristophanes’ play up to the scene under discussion here: dissatisfied with the

state of affairs in Athens, the comic hero Dikiaiopolis seeks out a treaty with the enemy.

His treaty angers the Acharnian chorus, provoking them to attack him with coals as they

shout: βάιιε, βάιιε, βάιιε, βάιιε (stone him, stone him, stone him, stone him! Acharn.

10

This is an interesting image since depending on which side of the Acropolis Parrhesiades‟ is fishing off

of, he is either fishing in the agora, where a lot of philosophical action happened, or into the theater of

Dionysus, which evokes Aristophanes‟ time period, or into the Odeon of Herodes‟ Atticus, a symbol of

Lucian‟s own times. The text is ambiguous about this, perhaps intentionally so. 11 Macleod (1991: 259). The accepted date for the production of the Demoi is 412 and the play is seen as a

reaction to the events of 413, particularly the Athenian defeat in Sicily, Storey (2003: 24).

116

281). In comparison, Lucian's Socrates incites the other dead philosophers to attack

Parrhesiades with the very same βάιιε βάιιε (Fish. 1).12

In addition to this, the very fact

that it is Socrates who is the mouthpiece for this Aristophanic allusion calls to mind his

comic portrayal in the Clouds. Socrates’ opening shouts thus simultaneously evoke the

plays of Eupolis and Aristophanes, casting the dead philosophers not merely as

philosophers but as a comic chorus comprised of philosophers. As we discussed in the

previous chapter, the poets of Old Comedy jockeyed for comic supremacy.13

Lucian’s

combination of Eupolis’ and Aristophanes’ voices within a single allusion subtly recreates

this rivalry for his audience, while at the same time establishing himself as the puppeteer

behind the scenes manipulating the original texts to fit a new philosophical purpose.

Though greatly indebted to Old Comedy, the Fisherman is nonetheless focused on what

Lucian sees to be the main philosophical problem plaguing his day: people who call

themselves philosophers but fail to live up to the very philosophic principles that they

espouse. Consequently, in defending his use of Old Comedy Lucian argues for the merits

of the genre by shifting the focus away from comedy’s problematic relationship with

12

In the Teubner edition, the opening shouts of βάιιε, βάιιε are attributed not merely to Socrates, but

rather to the entire group of dead philosophers. On the one hand, this interpretation of the opening scene

enhances the connection between the mob of philosophers and that of the Acharnians in Aristophanes‟

play. In this scenario, the philosophers call upon one another to attack, including Plato, Chrysippus,

Diogenes, Epicurus, Aristippus, and Aristotle. A notable absence from this list, however, is Socrates.

While it comes out later in the text that other philosophers, such as Empedocles and Pythagoras, are also

present, in my mind Socrates must play a central role in the philosophers‟ attack, and I consequently follow

Macleod in attributing the lines to Socrates. As the philosophers note, Socrates was mocked by

Aristophanes and Eupolis, thus making him the prime candidate to lead the charge against Parrhesiades and

for Lucian to connect his work to the earlier philosophic and comic traditions. 13

In fact, in the opinion of Sidwell, the “accusation of plagiarism and other evidence linking the comic

poets to one another is part of an elaborate series of jokes generated by one underlying characteristic: the

tendency of poets to attack each other by making comedy out of each other‟s comedy („paracomedy‟),

Sidwell (1993: 365).

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philosophy to the problem of charlatan philosophers. Lucian’s answer to this problem,

however, is ultimately comic, and the fusion of comedy and philosophical dialogue found

in this text is itself announced by the shouts of Socrates, a figure recognizable in both

traditions.

The voice of the Acharnian chorus heard in Socrates‟ shouts thus establishes an

extended comparison between the Fisherman and the Acharnians that affects how we

interpret the characters of the dead philosophers and the arguments they make. In this

comparison, the chorus of philosophers assumes the role of the Acharnian chorus and

Parrhesiades that of the comic hero, Dikaiopolis in the guise of Telephus. Lucian thus

adopts a comic premise to enact the conflict he imagines as existing between his work

and contemporary views about the genre of Old Comedy. References to Aristophanes‟

play, however, would presumably remind Lucian‟s audience that the chorus was no match

for Dikaiopolis‟ cleverness, and as Lucian will show, the philosophers are no different.

As the scene unfolds, Lucian incorporates his own version of the struggle between

comedy and tragedy found in Dikaiopolis‟ defense before the Acharnians. Following the

attack of the Acharnians, Dikaiopolis seeks help from Euripides, believing that his

defense hinges on obtaining the tragic clout associated with the costume of a beggar:

Μή κνη θζνλήζεη’, ἄλδξεο νἱ ζεώκελνη,

εἰ πησρὸο ὢλ ἔπεηη’ ἐλ Ἀζελαίνηο ιέγεηλ

κέιισ πεξὶ ηο πόιεσο, ηξπγῳδίαλ πνηῶλ.

Don‟t look down on me, spectators, if I am a beggar and I intend to speak

about the affairs of the city among the Athenians, as I‟m performing

comedy. (Acharn. 497-99)14

14

I am relying on S. Douglas Olson‟s Oxford edition of the text, (2002). All translations of the Acharnians

are my own.

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As many scholars have already pointed out, these lines parody the speech given by

Telephus in Euripides’ lost Telephus. In this particular scene, Telephus comes to the

Greek camp, dressed as a beggar, in order to procure a cure for the wound inflicted on

him by Achilles.15

To escape the attacks of the chorus, Aristophanes has Dikaiopolis don

the costume of Telephus and, consequently, of tragedy. According to Platter, this act

establishes a rivalry between tragedy and comedy within the Acharnians that allows

Aristophanes to question the authority of tragedy while dramatizing the generic

struggle.16

As we discussed above, at the opening of the Fisherman, Parrhesiades

assumes the role of Dikaiopolis and as such he is already speaking, as it were, behind a

mask, albeit the mask of Old Comedy. Like Aristophanes before him, Lucian couches the

voice of his comic hero behind that of another, yet for Lucian the voice of authority is not

initially that of the serious genre of tragedy but that of Old Comedy and consequently the

generic imitation and manipulation that is so characteristic of that genre. In the fight that

ensues between Parrhesiades and the dead philosophers, the two sides hurl epic and tragic

quotations at one another. Lucian thus re-stages the generic conflict found within the

Acharnians but expands Aristophanes’ paradigm to include epic.

15

Olson (2002: liv-lxi). 16

Platter (2001: 61) and (2007: 51-6). Hubbard, on the other hand, points to the similarity of comedy and

tragedy, as well as that of Euripides and Aristophanes: “the technique of Aristophanes and Euripides are

similar in that both bring their heroes down to a level closer to that of the common man in the audience.

Both poets also test the frontiers between Tragedy and Comedy, the one making his tragic heroes more

comic, the other making his comic heroes more tragic (or paratragic). In so doing, they attempt to make

drama a closer reflection of the human condition in its variegated complexity,” (1991: 44).

119

Unlike the Acharnian chorus, the dead philosophers attack Parrhesiades not only

with stones, but also epic and tragic quotations.17

As Parrhesiades begs for mercy,

Socrates quotes Achilles on the verge of slaying Hector: ὡο νὐθ ἔζηη ιένπζη θαὶ ἀλδξάζηλ

ὅξθηα πηζηά, (there are no trustworthy bonds between lions and men, Fish. 3).18

Through

this quotation Socrates effectively casts himself in the role of the invincible Achilles and

Parrhesiades, who was once the successful Telephus figure, as the doomed Hector. Not

willing to let himself be painted into a corner, Parrhesiades rejoins with his own Homeric

quotation of sorts:

Καὶ κὴλ θαζ’ Ὅκεξνλ ὑκᾶο θαὶ αὐηὸο ἱθεηεύζσ· αἰδέζεζζε γὰξ ἴζσο ηὰ

ἔπε θαὶ νὐ παξόςεζζε ῥαςῳδήζαληά κε·

δσγξεῖη’ νὐ θαθὸλ ἄλδξα θαὶ ἄμηα δέρζε ἄπνηλα,

ραιθόλ ηε ρξπζόλ ηε, ηὰ δὴ θηιένπζη ζνθνί πεξ.

But I can also beg for your mercy through Homer. For perhaps you will

respect his words and won't spurn me, if I recite some epic: “take me as

your captive, for I am not a bad man and accept a fitting ransom, bronze

and gold, which even wise men love.” (Fish. 3)

In Parrhesiades' response we have an amalgamation of partial lines from books 6 and 20

of the Iliad. Unlike Socrates, who quotes a famous and serious line, Parrhesiades

responds with a mixture of lines that allows him to manipulate the original epic lines to

say something other than what was originally intended. Within Parrhesiades' Homeric

17

In addition to evoking the Acharnians, this scene is also reminiscent of the agon of the Frogs between

Euripides and Aeschylus. In fact, the Fisherman seems to pick up where the Frogs, which ends where the

Fisherman picks up. 18

A.M. Harmon attributes this line to Plato, not Socrates in his 1921 Loeb edition of the text. Since Plato is

the conduit for much of what we know of Socrates, in my mind either figure works at this point in the

exchange. The decision to attribute these lines to either Plato or Socrates makes sense in light of Socrates'

discussion of poetry that Plato presents in Republic III and X, as well as the discussion of rhapsodes in the

Ion. If, however, we follow the Teubner, the anonymity of the speaker does not change the overall fact that

Parrhesiades and the dead philosophers are using the poetic tradition to attack one another.

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quotation, the first line comes from Iliad 6.46 (δώγξεη Ἀηξένο πἱέ, ζὺ δ’ ἄμηα δέμαη

ἄπνηλα·), while the first half of the second line appears two lines later (ραιθόο ηε ρξπζόο

ηε πνιύθκεηόο ηε ζίδεξνο). At this point in the narrative of the Iliad, Menelaus is on the

verge of killing the Trojan Adrestus, who begs for mercy. Though Menelaus initially

appears swayed by Adrestus' appeals for his life, Agamemnon intervenes and the two

brothers kill Adrestus. Through this Homeric allusion, Parrhesiades casts himself in the

role of the suppliant, whose rhetoric, if not for Agamemnon, would have saved his life.

In the final half of the second line, however, it becomes more difficult to establish

a one-to-one correlation between the lines spoken by Parrhesiades and the original

Homeric lines. Editors of the Fisherman note that this phrase is taken from Iliad 20.65

(ζκεξδαιέ’ εὐξώεληα, ηά ηε ζηπγένπζη ζενί πεξ·).19

The original Homeric line, however,

describes the underworld as containing horrors “which even the gods hate” and Lucian's

revision of the line reverses its meaning from what the gods hate to what wise men love.

Parrhesiades thus indicates here that wise men do not love what we might expect them to

love, namely wisdom, but rather gold. Consequently, Parrhesiades offers Socrates the

one thing he knows he will not accept, namely cash.20

As Plato's dialogues tell us, one

difference between a philosopher and a sophist was the sophist's acceptance of money.21

Parrhesiades consequently treats Socrates and company here as if they were the same

money-grubbing philosophers attacked in Philosophies for Sale.

19

Macleod (1991: 260 c.3). 20

Even if we do not attribute this line to Socrates or Plato, the problem still remains that Parrhesiades

offers a philosopher precisely what they should not be concerned with, namely money. For as Whitmarsh

notes in his discussion, one of the ways that Parrhesiades distinguishes the dead philosophers from the

charlatans currently plaguing Athens is the latter's acceptance of money. Whitmarsh (2001: 260-61). 21

See Plato, Protagoras 311b.

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Parrhesiades' modification of the Homeric line ensures that Socrates will reject his

offer. As the scene continues, Socrates once again attacks Parrhesiades in the language of

Homer:

Ἀιι’ νὐδὲ ἡκεῖο ἀπνξήζνκελ πξὸο ζὲ Ὁκεξηθο ἀληηινγίαο. ἄθνπε γνῦλ·

κὴ δή κνη θύμηλ γε, θαθεγόξε, βάιιεν ζπκῷ

ρξπζόλ πεξ ιέμαο, ἐπεὶ ἵθεν ρεῖξαο ἐο ἀκάο.

But we will not be at a loss for a Homeric argument in response to you.

Listen to this: “Don't even think about escape, you slanderer, even though

you speak of gold, since now you have fallen into my hands. (Fish. 3)

Socrates here quotes almost exactly Iliad 10.447-8, a scene in which Diomedes is on the

verge of killing the Trojan traitor, Dolon (κὴ δή κνη θύμίλ γε Δόισλ ἐκβάιιεν ζπκῷ·

ἐζζιά πεξ ἀγγείιαο, ἐπεὶ ἵθεν ρεῖξαο ἐο ἁκάο). In his evocation of these Homeric lines,

Socrates attempts to further undermine Parrhesiades' position, casting him as a traitor, at

the same time as he declares that the epic trope of offering ransom will not work in a

philosophical context. It should be noted, however, that in both cases Socrates quotes

almost exactly the original Homeric lines, while Parrhesiades takes a more fluid

approach to Homer's text, melding various lines and changing their original meaning. It

is this fluid approach to the literary tradition that initially got Parrheisades into trouble

with the dead philosophers, who in the context of the Fisherman are the embodiment of

the philosophical tradition. As such, it stands to reason then that Socrates' use of accurate

Homeric quotations illustrates the respect that he and the other dead philosophers feel

should be shown to earlier authors and thinkers. In contrast, Parrhesaides' less than rigid

approach to the original Homeric lines exemplifies not only the dead philosophers'

complaints about his debasement of philosophy but also serves as another example of

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how Lucian incorporates the Greek literary tradition into his writings, similar to what we

saw in the prologues discussed in chapter one.

The language of Homer, however, ultimately fails Parrhesiades, forcing him to

turn, like Dikaiopolis, to Euripides:

Οἴκνη ηῶλ θαθῶλ. ὁ κὲλ Ὅκεξνο ἡκῖλ ἄπξαθηνο, ἡ κεγίζηε ἐιπίο. ἐπὶ ηὸλ

Εὐξηπίδελ δή κνη θαηαθεπθηένλ· ηάρα γὰξ ἂλ ἐθεῖλνο ζώζεηέ κε.

κὴ θηεῖλε· ηὸλ ἱθέηελ γὰξ νὐ ζέκηο θηαλεῖλ.

Oh, how terrible. Homer, who was my greatest hope, is useless to me.

Now I must take refuge with Euripides, perhaps he can save me: “Don't

kill me! It is wrong to slay your suppliant.” (Fish. 3)

While the act of seeking help from Euripides further alludes to the Acharnians, the

Euripidean quotation, unfortunately, is a fragment from an unknown play and not much

can be said about it other than that Plato equally rejects Parrhesiades' tragic pleas.22

Whereas Dikaiopolis' clever adoption of tragic imagery brings him success, Parrhesiades

ultimately discards the words of Homer and Euripides in favor of his own. Through

these epic and tragic quotations, Lucian incorporates the generic struggle found in the

Acharnians between comedy and the so-called “loftier” genre of tragedy. Lucian's

inclusion of the epic voice, however, expands Aristophanes' conflict to include the

tensions between serious and comedic writing, in a sense the very conflict that we saw

enacted in Lucian's prologues and that continues through the rest of the Fisherman.

According to the dead philosopher's objections, Parrhesiades has debased philosophy by

treating the once serious genre in a comedic fashion. Whereas Dikaiopolis' success

22

Nauk, TGF 937. When the shift is made from epic to tragedy, Macleod conjectures that Plato takes over

Socrates' role, though there is nothing in the text to indicate that this is the case.

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comes in his ability to distort tragedy through comedy, Parrhesiades' arises through

Lucian's distortion of the very paradigm he is following. Lucian does not merely

manipulate the serious genres of epic and tragedy as Aristophanes did with tragedy, but

the genre of Old Comedy as well. By expanding on the example of generic interplay

established by Aristophanes in the Acharnians, Lucian recreates the generic rivalry of

Aristophanes‟ play but recasts it as between comedy and philosophy. As Lucian‟s

audience we are reminded of Dikaiopolis‟ successful in his encounter with the chorus of

Acharnians, and it is safe to assume that the same will hold true for Parrhesiades. By

casting the dead philosophers within the framework of the Acharnians, Lucian subtly

subverts their authority as the proponents of the view that Old Comedy is detrimental to

the philosophic tradition.

As we have seen so far, like Dikaiopolis, Parrhesiades relies on classical

precedents, but nonetheless manages to assert his originality in light of these traditions.

In his prosecution of Parrhesaides, however, Diogenes raises a significant problem with

Parrhesiades‟ Aristophanic approach that centers on the issue of comic sanction. For as

Diogenes explains, Eupolis' and Aristophanes' portrayals of Socrates were outrageous,

but acceptable because they took place during the festival of Dionysus:

Καίηνη ἐθεῖλνη κὲλ θαζ’ ἑλὸο ἀλδξὸο ἐηόικσλ ηνηαῦηα, θαὶ ἐλ Δηνλπζίνηο

ἐθεηκέλνλ αὐηὸ ἔδξσλ, θαὶ ηὸ ζθῶκκα ἐδόθεη κέξνο ηη ηο ἑνξηο,

They [Aristophanes and Eupolis] brazenly attacked a single individual and

they did this in Dionysus' theater, when it was permissible, and their

mockery was part of the festival. (Fish. 25)

Parrhesiades, on the other hand, mocked philosophers without the sanction of the festival.

This charge thus confronts the issue at stake in the Fisherman: does Old Comedy have a

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place in Lucian‟s society? Or, rather, is there a place for Lucian‟s revitalization of it? To

address these questions, we must now turn our attention to the question of comic sanction

and the potential issues that Lucian imagines as arising from Parrhesiades' lack of it. It is

here that Lucian directly engages with the philosophical influence of Cynicism as

embodied by the figure of Diogenes and, in doing so, begins to attribute philosophic

value to Old Comedy. As we will see, Lucian uses the Cynic‟s claims to parrhesia to

answer Diogenes‟ charges by asserting that philosophical parrhesia does not in fact

require ritual sanction.

In the Acharnians, Aristophanes presents Euripides as a comic figure from whom

Dikaiopolis seeks the authority of tragic garb as a means of defending himself against the

attacks of the Acharnian chorus. Within the Acharnians, we can consequently see

Aristophanes directly engaging with Euripidean tragedy.23

In the Fisherman, we likewise

find an exchange between a comedy and a serious genre, in this case philosophical

dialogue. Lucian, however, conflates Euripides and the Acharnian chorus in the figure of

Diogenes, who is both the spokesman of the dead philosophers and the figurehead of

Cynicism. This change consequently replaces the tension between comedy and tragedy

found in the Acharnians with that of comedy and philosophy, in this case specifically the

Cynic tradition. Lucian's use of one of the founders of the Cynic philosophy as his

prosecutor, however, is striking since Cynicism as a philosophy valued laughter and the

questioning of authority, the very charges that Parrhesiades' faces. Though scholars have

long noted the influence of Cynicism on Lucian and specifically the Fisherman, there has

23

Olson (2002: liv-lxi).

125

been little discussion of this disconnect between Diogenes as the figurehead of the Cynic

philosophers and the arguments that Lucian has him espouse. As I will argue, Lucian's

presentation of Diogenes betrays his debt to the Cynic tradition not simply through the

presence of the Cynic philosopher but through the discrepancies between the figure of

Diogenes and the Cynic ideal, which allow Parrhesiades to stake his own claim to the

Cynic tradition.24

Diogenes, like his companions Plato and Socrates, espouses the view

that the philosophical tradition must be respected and followed. This representation of

Diogenes casts Parrhesaides as the heir not only to the comic tradition but the Cynic as

well.

Before I begin my discussion of Parrhesiades' encounter with Diogenes, let me

first briefly summarize the basic features of the philosophical approach embodied by

Diogenes so as to better contextualize Lucian's interaction with it. Although first

appearing in the fourth or perhaps fifth century BCE, Cynicism experienced a revival

during the imperial period and it is this period of Cynicism that I will focus on. Like the

Epicureans and the Stoics, the Cynics understood happiness as living according to nature

and they sought to achieve this through self-mastery and the rejection of material goods,

fame, political power, and misconceptions about the value of things.25

As a result of this,

24

While it is possible for Parrhesiades‟ name on its own to evoke the Epicurean or Stoic uses of frank

speech, the fact that Lucian pits his persona against Diogenes, one of the founders of Cynicism, suggests a

direct engagement with that philosophy rather than the others. For a discussion of the different

connotations, political, literary, and philosophical, see Foucault (2001). 25 Long lists the following seven propositions of the Cynics: “1. Happiness is living in agreement with

nature; 2. Happiness is something available to any person willing to engage in sufficient physical and

mental training; 3.The essence of happiness is self-mastery, which manifests itself in the ability to live

happily under even highly adverse circumstances; 4. Self-mastery is equivalent to, or entails, a virtuous

character; 5. The happy person, as so conceived, is the only person who is truly wise, kingly, and free; 6.

Things conventionally deemed necessary for happiness, such as wealth, fame, and political power, have no

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the Cynics are typically characterized in the Imperial period by their asceticism, often

denoted by their possession of a single garment, bag, and staff, as well as their

shamelessness. Unlike Stoicism or Epicureanism, however, Cynicism cannot be labeled

as a “school,” since to practice it was not to attend classes in a specific place but to

imitate its founders, in particular Diogenes.26

Among the famous anecdotes recorded

about Diogenes by the Diogenes Laertius is that he was forced to flee his home town of

Sinope after defacing its currency (Life of the Philosophers 6.20). As Branham interprets

this tale, “Diogenes‟ aim was to demonstrate by his own example the superiority of

nature to custom, and he spent his whole life trying to „deface‟ the false values of the

dominant culture,” which included the realms of politics, religion, and philosophy.27

For

a Cynic, one of the ways to convey this rejection of the “dominant culture” was through

“disrespectful, aggressively witty, funny, and shocking” speech characterized by its

parrhesia and laughter.28

In the Fisherman, however, Lucian conveys conflicting views

about the Cynics. On the one hand, Lucian describes the fake philosophers plaguing

Athens as dressed in the traditional Cynic garb of a cloak and carrying a staff, while, on

the other, the very name of Lucian's persona seems in part to be the embodiment of the

Cynic appropriation of parrhesia.29

Despite this apparent contradiction, we nonetheless would expect to find the core

values of Cynicism illustrated in the figure of Diogenes. Yet the charges Diogenes levels

value in nature; and 7. Prime impediments to happiness are false judgments of value, together with

emotional disturbances and vicious character that arise from these false judgments,” (1996:29-30). 26

Branham (1996: 2). 27

Branham (1996: 24). 28

Trapp (2007: 190-1). The collection of chreia preserved in Diogenes Laertius‟ life of Diogenes bears

witness to this. 29

Clay (1992: 3414).

127

at Parrhesiades clash with the Cynic ideal of questioning the accepted norms of society

through disrespectful and shocking language. For according to Diogenes, one of the

main issues that Parrhesiades must confront is that he incited the general public to laugh

at Philosophy and her followers:

ηὰ πιήζε δὲ ἀλαπείζσλ θαηαγειᾶλ ἡκῶλ θαὶ θαηαθξνλεῖλ ὡο ηὸ κεδὲλ

ὄλησλ· κᾶιινλ δὲ θαὶ κηζεῖζζαη πξὸο ηῶλ πνιιῶλ ἤδε πεπνίεθελ αὐηνύο

ηε ἡκᾶο θαὶ ζὲ ηὴλ Φηινζνθίαλ, θιελάθνπο θαὶ ιήξνπο ἀπνθαιῶλ ηὰ ζὰ

θαὶ ηὰ ζπνπδαηόηαηα ὧλ ἡκᾶο ἐπαίδεπζαο ἐπὶ ριεπαζκῷ δηεμηώλ, ὥζηε

αὐηὸλ κὲλ θξνηεῖζζαη θαὶ ἐπαηλεῖζζαη πξὸο ηῶλ ζεαηῶλ, ἡκᾶο δὲ

ὑβξίδεζζαη. θύζεη γὰξ ηνηνῦηόλ ἐζηηλ ὁ πνιὺο ιεώο, ραίξνπζη ηνῖο

ἀπνζθώπηνπζηλ θαὶ ινηδνξνπκέλνηο, θαὶ κάιηζζ’ ὅηαλ ηὰ ζεκλόηαηα εἶλαη

δνθνῦληα δηαζύξεηαη, ὥζπεξ ἀκέιεη θαὶ πάιαη ἔραηξνλ Ἀξηζηνθάλεη θαὶ

Εὐπόιηδη Σσθξάηε ηνπηνλὶ ἐπὶ ριεπαζίᾳ παξάγνπζηλ ἐπὶ ηὴλ ζθελὴλ θαὶ

θσκῳδνῦζηλ ἀιινθόηνπο ηηλὰο πεξὶ αὐηνῦ θσκῳδίαο.

He has persuaded the masses to laugh at us and despise us as worthless.

What's more, he has now made both you, Philosophy, and ourselves to be

hated by the populace, calling your activities nonsense and rubbish and

giving a satirical version of the finest and most serious of things you

taught us, so that he is applauded and praised by his audience. For this

what the general public like: they delight in people who deride and insult,

and especially when the most respected things are ridiculed, just as, of

course they enjoyed having Aristophanes and Eupolis put Socrates here on

the stage and compose outrageous comedies about him. (Fish. 25)

The verb used by Diogenes to characterize this laughter, θαηαγειᾶλ, typically denotes the

mocking or derisive laughter that Plutarch attributed to Old Comedy in his Comparison

and saw as so dangerous to society. We consequently find in Diogenes' arguments

against Parrhesiades' comic approach many of the sentiments leveled against Old

Comedy in Plutarch's Comparison. This laughter, however, also represents a trait of

Cynic philosophers, and perhaps even more surprisingly, the laughter that Diogenes

charges Parrhesiades with is in fact commonly associated with Diogenes himself. In

addition to this, Diogenes attacks Parrhesiades, whose name suggests that he is the

128

embodiment of a Cynic ideal, for behaving like a Cynic, and there consequently exists a

further disconnect within Lucian's Diogenes between the Cynic image that he would have

evoked for Lucian's audience and the arguments that Lucian presents him as espousing.

This discrepancy indicates the figure of Diogenes not to be representative of a Cynic

standpoint but rather as Lucian's depiction of contemporary interpretations of these

philosophers as the pinnacles of philosophic achievement.

Parrhesiades, however, does not convince the dead philosophers about the merits

of his comic dialogues by invoking Plato, but rather by turning to the Cynic tradition that

Diogenes seems to have lost sight of. By pitting his persona against Diogenes, Lucian

establishes the Cynic tradition as the key to refuting Diogenes' anti-comedy arguments.

As Branham has already noted, Parrhesiades' name evokes the parrhesia of Old Comedy

and that of Cynicism.30

Cynic freedom, however, is characterized in large part by its “its

provocative acts of free speech, meant to subvert existing authorities.”31

As we saw in

the introduction, Dio similarly connected Cynic parrhesia to the parrhesia of Old

Comedy in his speech to the Alexandrians. If we read Parrhesiades as evocative of both

traditions of parrhesia, and I think we should, then the idea that a Cynic must subvert

existing authorities presents the interesting problem that as a Cynic Parrhesiades must

reject authority and tradition. In other words, he must reject his teacher to honor him. To

outdo Diogenes, therefore, is exactly what Parrhesiades should be doing as a good Cynic

philosopher. Diogenes' rigid approach to the philosophical tradition consequently shows

30

Branham (1989: 33). 31

Branham (1996: 9).

129

him to be unaware that he and the other dead philosophers have become the “tradition”

that the Cynic Parrhesiades “defaces.”

Lucian challenges the philosopher's authority with a rival claim of his own that is

hard-wired into his narrator's name. As his name suggests, Parrhesiades is a follower of

parrhesia, the meaning of which changed as the politics of Athens changed. Beginning

as a political virtue found in the public assembly of fifth century Athens, parrhesia was

the exercise of free speech by free men for the public good. When the Athenian

democracy fell, parrhesia did not cease to exist, but reemerged in philosophy,

particularly Cynic philosophy. For philosophers, parrhesia was the enjoyment of moral

freedom used for the improvement, not of the city, but of one's philosophical companions.

By arguing that he directs his laughter at the charlatan philosophers currently plaguing

Athens, Parrhesiades, though drawing on the influence Cynicism, returns parrhesia to its

original job of benefiting the city. Through the Fisherman‟s focus on parrhesia, a virtue

that bridges the divide between Old Comedy and Philosophy, Lucian merges the

parrhesia of comedy with that of the Cynics and in doing so, argues for its place in

society.

The character of Parrhesiades therefore encapsulates the range of parrhesia's

associations. Glenn Holland attributes Lucian's interest in parrhesia to a need to justify

his comedy and consequently aligns Lucian's concerns with those of the dead

philosophers.32

Though Lucian's comic license represents the central issue of the

Fisherman, Lucian's evocation of parrhesia indicates that he does not need this license in

32

Holland (2004: 263).

130

the strict sense that Diogenes requires –for the philosophical appropriation of parrhesia

meant that the ritual sanction was no longer necessary. Instead, it serves to connect the

Fisherman's philosophical arguments and debt to Old Comedy. In other words, Lucian

calls upon the double meaning of parrhesia to simultaneously assert his similarity to

Aristophanes and the other writers of Old Comedy and to position his work within the

philosophic tradition. Lucian's approach to comedy in the Fisherman thus combines the

license of Old Comedy with the philosophical freedom enjoyed by philosophers, and thus

answers the objections of the likes of Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides, that Old Comedy has

no place in contemporary society.

Lucian's claim to parrhesia situates his comic dialogues within the comedic and

philosophic traditions and in doing so establishes their focus to be the socio-cultural

problems of his day, specifically the problem of charlatan philosophers. In the context of

the Fisherman, this societal role is enacted in the final scene of the text, in which the dead

philosophers commission Parrhesiades to prosecute the fake philosophers on the

Acropolis in front of Virtue, Philosophy, and Justice (Fish. 40). To entice the

philosophers of Athens –both real and counterfeit- to come to the Acropolis, Parrhesiades

offers a reward of two minas, a sesame cake, and, for anyone with a long beard, dried figs

(Fish 41). Parrhesiades' summons, however, draw so many fake philosophers that

Philosophy herself complains that she cannot distinguish between the two:

κεζηὴ δὲ ἡ ἀθξόπνιηο ἐλ βξαρεῖ θιαγγεδὸλ πξνθαζηδόλησλ θαὶ παληαρνῦ

πήξα θνιαθεία, πώγσλ ἀλαηζρπληία, βαθηεξία ιηρλεία, ζπιινγηζκὸο

θηιαξγπξία· νἱ ὀιίγνη δέ, ὁπόζνη πξὸο ηὸ πξῶηνλ θήξπγκα ἐθεῖλν

ἀλῄεζαλ, ἀθαλεῖο θαὶ ἄζεκνη, ἀλακηρζέληεο ηῷ πιήζεη ηῶλ ἄιισλ, θαὶ

ιειήζαζηλ ἐλ ηῆ ὁκνηόηεηη ηῶλ ἄιισλ ζρεκάησλ.

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The acropolis has filled with them ' as noisily they perch' and everywhere

are pouches and flattery, beards and shamelessness, staffs and gluttony,

syllogisms and avarice, but the few who came up in answer to that first

summons, cannot be seen or distinguished, but have been swallowed up by

the hordes of others and can't be made out where all appearances are so

similar.

Philosophy here indicates that the problem is not just that Athens is overrun by charlatan

philosophers, but that on the surface they are indistinguishable from the few true ones.

Parrhesiades in turn indicates that in fact the fake philosophers are often more convincing

than the true ones (πηζαλώηεξνη γὰξ νἱ γόεηεο νὗηνη πνιιάθηο ηῶλ ἀιεζῶο

θηινζνθνύλησλ, 42).

The problem highlighted here by Philosophy and Parrhesiades is further

reinforced by a fight, which breaks outs between the respective philosophic schools over

the rewards offered by Parrhesiades. Disgusted with the state of philosophy in Athens,

Philosophy, Truth, and the personification of Elenchus commission Parrhesiades to rid

Athens of these charlatan philosophers. Such an act indicates that Lucian sees his

comedic philosophy as adopting the Socratic persona for himself. While the presence of

Elenchus recalls the Socrates of Plato's dialogues, the fact that Fisherman up to this point

has drawn much of its inspiration from Aristophanic comedy suggests that Lucian's

approach to Socrates and his elenchus is ultimately comic. Lucian's image of Socrates is

thus not simply Plato‟s, but the complex literary image that we find in Old Comedy and

Plato's dialogues as well as the later philosophic traditions, such as that of the Cynics.

In Parrhesiades' solution to Athens' problems of charlatan philosopher, Lucian

highlights how his work represents the enactment of a variety of traditions. Once

commissioned by Philosophy and Truth, Parrhesiades hatches a scheme that involves

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using gold and figs as bait to literally fish for philosophers off the side of the Acropolis

(Fish. 47). In the Fisherman Lucian tries his persona for his reliance on Old Comedy as

a means of revealing the problems he sees with his contemporary philosophers. While

the end of the Fisherman indicates that Lucian's comic reinvention of the Socratic

method is the tool needed to expose fake philosophers, Philosophy eventually puts an end

to Parrhesiades' fishing scene, and he is not allowed to fully purge Athens. The

embodiment of Elenchus is thus left to ask where they should go next: Πνῖ δὲ θαὶ

πξῶηνλ ἀπηέλαη δεήζεη; κῶλ εἰο ηὴλ Ἀθαδεκίαλ ἢ εἰο ηὴλ Σηνὰλ ἢ ἀπὸ ηνῦ Λπθείνπ

πνηεζώκεζα ηὴλ ἀξρήλ; (Where must we go first? The Academy or the Porch? Or are

we start at the Lyceum? Fish. 52) In light of Parrhesiades' exposure of Athens'

philosophers as charlatans, Elenchus asks which of the schools is the right school to

follow, or, in other words, which should be the home for philosophy and the Socratic

tradition? Parrhesiades' answer is that it does not make a difference, they are ultimately

all the same: Οὐδὲλ δηνίζεη ηνῦην. πιὴλ νἶδά γε ἐγὼ ὡο ὅπνη πνη’ ἂλ ἀπέιζσκελ, ὀιίγσλ

κὲλ ηῶλ ζηεθάλσλ, πνιιῶλ δὲ ηῶλ θαπηεξίσλ δεεζόκεζα. (It won't make any difference.

However, I do know that wherever we go, we'll need few wreaths but lots of branding-

irons, Fish. 52). As the final lines of the Fisherman, Parrhesiades' response indicates that

Lucian views each of the philosophical schools as corrupt, emphasizing that his comic

approach to philosophy, which represents a return to the harsh societal questioning once

seen in traditions of Old Comedy, Platonic dialogue, and the Cynic tradition, as the

solution to this problem.

133

At the opening of the Fisherman we saw how Parrhesiades faced the attacks of

the dead philosophers because of his comic portrayal of them. In his arguments

regarding the dangers of Old Comedy espoused by the philosophers, Lucian enacts the

tension between the two genres initiated by Aristophanes' Clouds and Plato's Apology.

Lucian's comic trial of Parrhesiades represents Lucian's attempt to revive Old Comedy

from the attacks of Plato and his followers by likening the type of socio-cultural

questioning found in it to Cynicism and the Socratic elenchus. This Old Comic approach

to philosophy allows Lucian to reveal how figures, such as Diogenes, have lost their

original connotations, in this case the derisive and comic questioning of authority, to

become nothing more than figure heads for the literary and philosophical tradition

embodied by the ideal of paideia. In contrast to this, the Fisherman's complex

engagement not only with traditions of Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue, but also with

that of the Cynics casts Lucian as the figure who does not merely cite the cultural cache

of Socrates, but attempts to embody him in all his different manifestations. As we will

see in the next section, Lucian takes this a step further in the Twice Prosecuted, casting

his comic dialogues as representative of a new philosophic approach worthy of emulation

in its own right.

II. The Twice Prosecuted

In the previous section we saw how Lucian uses Parrhesiades‟ apology to establish a

philosophical precedent for his literary project by linking comic parrhesia to its Cynic

counterpart. Though the connections drawn between comic and Cynic free speech

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challenge the views expressed by Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides that Old Comedy has no

place in contemporary society, the Fisherman does not directly address Old Comedy‟s

reputation as a genre hostile to philosophers. As we discussed in the introduction, Old

Comedy‟s experience was ambivalent and complex in the Second Sophistic. Although it

represented Attic style, it also had the agonistic stigma attributed to it by Plato‟s Apology.

The Twice Prosecuted confronts this opinion by turning to what Lucian sees as the crux

of the problem, namely the attacks leveled by Plato‟s Socrates at Aristophanes‟ comic

representation of him in the Clouds. In this section, I will show that Lucian addressed

this problem by assigning to Old Comedy philosophical value. As I will argue, the

apology of the Twice Prosecuted answers the charge that Old Comedy is unsuitable for

an educated person by using it to expose the flaws inherent in the contemporary

approaches to philosophy and thus establishing Lucian‟s comic dialogues as the proper

vehicle for conducting philosophy.

According to Plato‟s representation of him, Socrates possessed the potential to

make Athens a better and more just city, an ideal that serves as the starting point for

Lucian‟s Twice Prosecuted.33

To briefly summarize the intricate plot, the text opens with

a problem: Zeus has allowed a backlog of lawsuits involving the major philosophical

schools to develop. In an attempt to resolve this problem, Zeus commissions a

subcommittee headed up by Justice to empanel juries on the Areopagus for the following

cases: Intoxication versus the Academy over the kidnapping of Polemo, the Stoa versus

33

In the Apology, for example, Socrates points to the fact that he spoke out against the illegality of trying as

a group the ten generals who failed to pick up the survivors after the battle of Arginusae (32ff).

135

Pleasure for the seduction of Dionysius, Luxury versus Virtue over Aristippus, Banking

versus Diogenes for Defection, and Painting versus Pyhrro for desertion. Through these

trials, Lucian presents his audience with a caricature of the philosophical approaches

embodied by each school and in doing so questions the value of each method in terms of

living a philosophical life. These cases, however, are augmented by two more recent

lawsuits brought against Lucian‟s persona, the Syrian, by the personifications of Rhetoric

and Dialogue on the most serious charges of all: maltreatment (κάκωζιρ) and hubris

respectively (TP 14). While Rhetoric accuses the Syrian of abandoning her, Dialogue

asserts that the Syrian has degraded him by uniting him with comedy.

As scholars have noted about the first of the Syrian‟s two trials, the scenario of a

personified literary genre suing its author on the grounds of abandonment is reminiscent

of Cratinus‟ Wine Flask, which similarly imagines that the comic poet is brought to court

by his “wife” Comedy on the grounds that he left her for μέθη (drunkenness).34

In

Lucian‟s version of this scenario, Comedy‟s role is assumed by the two figures of

Rhetoric and philosophical Dialogue. This adaptation revisits the tension between the

sophist and philosopher that we find in many of Plato‟s dialogues, which we will see as

well in chapter four. As I will argue, Lucian draws on the scenario of Cratinus‟ play to

reveal the corruption of rhetoric in his own time and thus establishes comedy as an

important philosophic tool. In attributing to comedy a philosophic role, Lucian contends

34

See Bowie (2007: 36), who relies on Hirzel (1895: 302-3). Bompaire questions this connection, (1958:

253). Hirzel‟s connection is strengthened by the fact that Lucian mentions the Wine Flask in his

Octogenarians 25.

136

that the genre‟s base humor and lowly focus are necessary if he is to save the

philosophical Dialogue from becoming overly obscure and esoteric. By adopting the

persona of the Syrian, Lucian thus presents himself as a comic Socratic figure, greatly

indebted to the Cynic and Skeptic traditions, through whom justice will be returned to

Athens.

Although the Twice Prosecuted presents Lucian directly addressing his literary

style, the text has received little scholarly attention. While Branham labels the work as

Lucian‟s “most ambitious attempt at using the idiosyncratic form of the dialogue he

developed,” his discussion focuses solely on the ways in which this text establishes

Lucian‟s “literary pedigree” through allusions to Homer, Old Comedy, and even

Demosthenes.35

More recently, Braun has argued for the importance of contextualizing

Lucian‟s discussion of his craft within the larger framework of the work as a whole.36

Building on the work of Branham and Braun, my discussion will explore how the Twice

Prosecuted first revives the tension that Lucian imagines arose out of Plato‟s

condemnation of Aristophanes‟ Clouds in the Apology and then uses that tension to

establish comedy as an important philosophic tool. I will begin by examining the ways in

which the initial exchange between Zeus and Justice sets the stage for the Syrian‟s

“apology” by imagining that Aristophanes‟ Clouds has had such a lasting effect on

Athens that it has become a city ruled by injustice. Lucian achieves this by drawing first

on the debate between the Stronger and Weaker arguments in the Clouds and then on the

35

Branham (1989: 34-5). 36

Braun (1994: 15-17).

137

definition of justice found in Plato‟s Republic. The effect of this juxtaposition of comic

and philosophic elements serves to reignite the tension between comedy and philosophy

that Lucian‟s persona, the Syrian, will proclaim to have resolved at the conclusion of the

text. Furthermore, this image of Athens allows Lucian to cast the trials in this text as

referendums on the various philosophical approaches. In each trial, Lucian depicts a

caricature of a philosophical school and thus calls into question its merits. By placing the

two trials of his persona at the culmination of the text, Lucian asserts that his comic

dialogues represent a novel philosophic approach, worthy of following in its own right.

Athens as the Unjust City

Lucian‟s characterizes Athens as an unjust city through Zeus‟ decision to send Justice

and Hermes to empanel juries on the Areopagus. Before I begin my analysis of this

representation of Athens, let me first briefly contextualize the basic scenario of the Twice

Prosecuted. The precedent for the divine establishment of courts at the opening of the

text is Aeschylus‟ Eumenides, which was produced in 458 BCE and reflects the tensions

surrounding the legal role of the courts on the Areopagus.37

The connection between

Aeschylus‟ play and the affairs of the contemporary Athens has led some to see a similar

connection in the Twice Prosecuted. Delz, for example, has suggested that Lucian‟s

courts indicate that the tradition of empanelling juries continued into the Roman period,

an assumption that has been called into question by Braun, who contends that the

37

Cartledge (1997: 26). For a discussion of the Eumenides connection, see Braun (1994: 85).

138

proconsul held all legal authority.38

In fact, as Boegehold has pointed out, we have very

little evidence for the law courts in Athens after 322 CE.39

Though it is certainly

conceivable that Lucian intends the empanelling of juries in the Twice Prosecuted to

evoke an image of the Athens of his own day, I would like to suggest that Lucian recasts

this once tragic scenario as a comic one.

The connection to Old Comedy first appears in the language surrounding the

establishment of the court. As Zeus instructs Hermes to lead Justice to Athens, he refers

to the courts on the Areopagus not as a δικαζηήπιον but instead as a lawsuit market

(ἀγοπὰν δικῶν, TP 4). This is an unusual phrase and, as Sidwell has noted, one that

recalls the Knights’ portrayal of the law courts as a “law suit bazaar,” (ἐλ ηῷ δείγκαηη ηῶλ

δηθῶλ, 979).40

As Sidwell conjectures, Aristophanes‟ “law suit bazaar” may itself be an

allusion to an unknown contemporary comedy, --a hypothesis that leads Sidwell to

contend that Lucian is potentially modeling his own ἀγοπὰν δικῶν not necessarily on the

Knights, but instead on an unknown comedy by either Eupolis or Cratinus.41

While this

interpretation is plausible, I would like to suggest here that Lucian‟s ἀγοπὰν δικῶν need

not refer to one specific play but rather to the general trope in Old Comedy of mocking

the law courts.42

38

Delz (1950: 155-60). Braun (1994:83). 39

Boegehold (1995: 41-2). 40

Sidwell (2005: 354). Braun (1994: 81). 41

Sidwell (2005: 354). 42

Braun also makes a connection to Old Comedy but along slightly different lines. As he argues, the

figure of Zeus is intended to be a comic character and that his opening speech mimics the opening

complaints figures such as Dikaiopolis (65-70).

139

Jokes about the litigiousness of the Athenians are common in Aristophanes‟

plays.43

To cite just a few examples, the joke represents the basic scenario of the Wasps,

which depicts Bdelycleon‟s struggles to curb his father‟s passion for serving on juries.44

Similarly in the Clouds, the law courts and their juries are such a feature of Athenian life

that they have become synonymous with Athens for Strepsiades, who fails to recognize

Athens on a map without them:

{Μα.} αὕηε δέ ζνη γο πεξίνδνο πάζεο. ὁξᾷο;

αἵδε κὲλ Ἀζλαη.

{Ση.} ηί ζὺ ιέγεηο; νὐ πείζνκαη,

ἐπεὶ δηθαζηὰο νὐρ ὁξῶ θαζεκέλνπο.

Student: And this, you see, is a map of the whole world. Look, here's

Athens.

Strepsiades: How do you make that out? I‟m not persuaded since I don‟t

see the jury sitting on their benches (Clouds, 206-208)

For Aristophanes, these jokes highlight political and societal issues specific to the Athens

in which these plays were produced. In contrast, Lucian reworks this trope to address the

philosophical corruption that has plagued Athens since the execution of Socrates. His

adoption of this joke for a philosophical purpose thus looks ahead to the ensuing trials,

and in particular, the Syrian‟s comic apology.

Whereas the Fisherman presents Parrhesiades‟ apology in the model of the

Acharnians, the opening of the Twice Prosecuted sets the stage for the Syrian‟s apology

by drawing much of its inspiration from the Clouds. In turning to the Clouds, Lucian

revives for his audience the very source of the problem that confronts his comic approach

43

As Dover points out, “the joke against the Athenian‟s insistence on trying cases, both domestic and

imperial by large juries is a standby of Aristophanes” Dover (1968: 123). 44

See also the Peace 501 and the Birds 41 and 409

140

to philosophy, namely the comic Socrates. This debt appears primarily in the figure of

Justice and her interactions with Zeus. Though Zeus believes that he has found an easy

solution to his problem, Justice initially refuses to return to Athens because she fears that

her counterpart, Injustice, will mock her: Αὖζηο εἰο ηὴλ γλ, ἵλ’ ἐμειαπλνκέλε πξὸο αὐηῶλ

δξαπεηεύσ πάιηλ ἐθ ηνῦ βίνπ ηὴλ Ἀδηθίαλ ἐπηγειῶζαλ νὐ θέξνπζα; (You want me to go

back to earth again? All that will happen is that I'll have to run away from human life

once more when I can't stand the mocking laughter of Injustice, TP 5). As this line

indicates, Justice‟s refusal to return to Athens stems from her belief that Athens is ruled

by Injustice, a scenario suggestive of the debate between the Stronger and Weaker

speeches taken from the Clouds (889-1111). In the context of the Clouds, the Stronger

argument boasts that he will defeat the Weaker argument by presenting a just argument,

(ηὰ δίθαηα ιέγσλ, 900). In response to this, however, the Weaker argument counters that

he denies the existence of Justice: ἀιι’ ἀλαηξέςσ ηαῦη’ ἀληηιέγσλ· / νὐδὲ γὰξ εἶλαη πάλπ

θεκὶ Δίθελ, (But I will turn this around and refute this. I say that there is no such thing as

Justice, 901-2). The Stronger argument rejects this assertion and an investigation into

justice quickly disintegrates into insults. As we can see, Lucian capitalizes on the

Weaker argument’s line of reasoning about the non-existence Justice by suggesting at the

opening of the Twice Prosecuted that the defeat of the Stronger argument has led to

Justice’s decamping from Athens. In referencing this moment in the Clouds, Lucian

casts Athens as a corrupt city and, more importantly for our discussion, revives for his

audience what he imagines to be one of the sources for Old Comedy‟s problematic status,

namely Aristophanes‟ comic portrayal of Socrates as a sophist.

141

Lucian‟s characterization of the Athens of the Twice Prosecuted as existing in the

wake of the Clouds capitalizes on the view so prominent in Dio and Aristides that

comedy can have a negative effect on society, which we saw expressed particularly by

Aristides in his call to ban all forms of it. To further dramatize this line of argument for

his audience, Lucian invokes the supposed role that Aristophanes‟ portrayal of Socrates

played in the philosopher‟s execution. As he attempts to alleviate Justice‟s fears, Zeus

contends that Justice should return to Athens because philosophers and especially

Socrates have taken up her cause (TP 5). Zeus‟ arguments, however, fail when Justice

points to Socrates‟ fate:

Πάλπ γνῦλ ὃλ θὴο αὐηὸλ ἐθεῖλνλ ὤλεζαλ νἱ πεξὶ ἐκνῦ ιόγνη, ὃο

παξαδνζεὶο ηνῖο ἕλδεθα θαὶ εἰο ηὸ δεζκσηήξηνλ ἐκπεζὼλ ἔπηελ ἄζιηνο ηνῦ

θσλείνπ, κεδὲ ηὸλ ἀιεθηξπόλα ηῷ Ἀζθιεπηῷ ἀπνδεδσθώο· παξὰ

ηνζνῦηνλ ὑπεξέζρνλ νἱ θαηήγνξνη ηἀλαληία πεξὶ ηο Ἀδηθίαο

θηινζνθνῦληεο.

Well that fellow you mentioned got a fantastic reward for the lectures

about me. He was handed over to the Eleven, put in prison and drank the

cup of hemlock. The poor man, he hadn't even offered the cockerel he

owed to Asclepius. That's the advantage his accusers had. They produced

philosophy with Injustice as its focus. (Twice Prosecuted 5)

Justice here strikingly describes Socrates‟ accusers as philosophizing (θηινζνθνῦληεο)

about injustice. This suggests that their actions brought about not only the death of

Socrates but also the perversion of philosophy. As the opening exchange between Justice

and Zeus indicates, Justice has removed herself from Athens because Injustice mocked

her, thus recalling Aristophanes‟ Clouds. Justice‟s assertion here that Injustice is to blame

for Socrates‟ execution lays the blame once again with Aristophanes‟ portrayal of

Socrates and in doing so recalls the Apology. Whereas the Fisherman focused on the

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issue of sanctioning comic parrhesia, Justice‟s initial fears indicate that the Twice

Prosecuted will not attempt to rehabilitate a particular aspect of Old Comedy but the

genre as a whole by acquitting it of the charge of being hostile to philosophers initiated

by Plato.

The initial encounter between Justice and Zeus thus reignites the tension between

the Clouds and the Apology that represents the source of the charges brought against the

Syrian by Rhetoric and Dialogue. As a result, Athens is an unjust city because Justice

refuses to go there. This then raises the question that will drive the ensuing philosophical

trials: in this situation, what is the best way to lead a philosophical life? Lucian first

signals this question to us through Zeus who fails to understand Justice‟s fear because he

lacks an understanding of what it means to be a philosopher, as is evident from his

attempts to persuade Justice to return to Athens.45

As Zeus tries to convince Justice to

return to Athens, he goes so far as to argue that Anytus and Meletus were in fact not to

blame for bringing Socrates to trial since at that time philosophical discourses were

unknown to the crowd (Ξέλα ἔηη ηνῖο πνιινῖο ηὰ ηο θηινζνθίαο ἦλ ηόηε, θαὶ ὀιίγνη ἦζαλ

νἱ θηινζνθνῦληεο, ὥζηε εἰθόησο εἰο ηὸλ Ἄλπηνλ θαὶ Μέιεηνλ ἔξξεπελ ηὰ δηθαζηήξηα, TP

6). Zeus then contrasts the Athens of Anytus and Meletus to contemporary Athens,

which is full of philosophers instantly recognizable by their beards and cloaks:

πνιινὶ γνῦλ ηὰο ηέρλαο ἀθέληεο ἃο εἶρνλ ηέσο, ἐπὶ ηὴλ πήξαλ ᾄμαληεο θαὶ

ηὸ ηξηβώληνλ, θαὶ ηὸ ζῶκα πξὸο ηὸλ ἥιηνλ εἰο ηὸ Αἰζηνπηθὸλ ἐπηρξάλαληεο

αὐηνζρέδηνη θηιόζνθνη ἐθ ζθπηνηόκσλ ἢ ηεθηόλσλ πεξηλνζηνῦζη ζὲ θαὶ

ηὴλ ζὴλ ἀξεηὴλ ἐπαηλνῦληεο. ὥζηε θαηὰ ηὴλ παξνηκίαλ, ζᾶηηνλ ἄλ ηηο ἐλ

45

This is ultimately a Platonic point that has Socrates‟ account of Diotima‟s speech at its heart. According

to Socrates, no god can lack and since a lover lacks, a god cannot therefore be a lover of wisdom (202c-d).

143

πινίῳ πεζὼλ δηακάξηνη μύινπ ἢ ἔλζα ἂλ ἀπίδῃ ὁ ὀθζαικόο, ἀπνξήζεη

θηινζόθνπ

Why, lots of them have abandoned the skills they had before, made a dash

for the begging-bowl; and the little cloak, got themselves an Ethiopian tan

and hey presto are now philosophers instead of cobbler and carpenters, and

go around singing the praises of you and your virtue. Consequently, in the

words of the proverb, it would be easier for a man to fall in a boat without

hitting a plank than for your eye to miss a philosopher wherever it look

(TP 6).

As is often the case, Lucian‟s comments about philosophers are not sect specific. Sidwell

notes about this passage that Zeus‟ description of the garb worn by these philosophers

recalls the standard image of a Cynic philosopher, while their fixation on virtue is

suggestive of the Stoic way of life.46

I would add to this that Zeus‟ reference to cobblers

and carpenters comically recalls Socrates who appealed to these professions in his

discussions of first- and second-order sciences and more specifically his definition of

Justice in Plato‟s Republic. In the Republic, Socrates defines justice as each citizen doing

the job that he is naturally suited to do (ἕλα ἕθαζηνλ ἓλ δένη ἐπηηεδεύεηλ ηῶλ πεξὶ ηὴλ

πόιηλ, εἰο ὃ αὐηνῦ ἡ θύζηο ἐπηηεδεηνηάηε πεθπθπῖα εἴε, Republic 433a).47

Lucian‟s

Athens, which is characterized by people abandoning their original occupations in favor

of the philosophical life, cannot be a “just” city according to Socrates‟ definition, a point

that reinforces Justices‟ reluctance to return to it.

Besides presenting us with further evidence that Lucian‟s Athens is an unjust city,

Zeus‟ description of the cobblers and carpenters who have become philosophers also

46

Sidwell (2005: 355). 47

For a discussion of the different Platonic, Cynic, and Stoic undertones of this part of the TP, see Braun

(1994: 88-94). Anderson (1976B) labels this portion of the TP as “a superfluous discussion of philosophy,”

(163).

144

recalls how Socrates defines justice in the Republic by first invoking the figures from

everyday life, in particular that of the cobbler and the carpenter:

Ἰδὲ δὴ ἐὰλ ζνὶ ὅπεξ ἐκνὶ ζπλδνθῆ. ηέθησλ ζθπηνηόκνπ ἐπηρεηξῶλ ἔξγα

ἐξγάδεζζαη ἢ ζθπηνηόκνο ηέθηνλνο, ἢ ηὰ ὄξγαλα κεηαιακβάλνληεο

ηἀιιήισλ ἢ ηηκάο, ἢ θαὶ ὁ αὐηὸο ἐπηρεηξῶλ ἀκθόηεξα πξάηηεηλ, πάληα

ηἆιια κεηαιιαηηόκελα, ἆξά ζνη ἄλ ηη δνθεῖ κέγα βιάςαη πόιηλ;

Consider, then, and see whether you agree with me about this. If a

carpenter attempts to do the work of a cobbler, or a cobbler that of a

carpenter, or they exchange their tools or honors with one another, of if

the same person tries to do both jobs, and all other such exchanges are

made, do you think that does any great harm to the city? (434A)

As Socrates leads Glaucon through this argument, they agree that meddling and

exchanging what one is supposed to do is an injustice to the city (434c). Zeus‟ argument

that now practically everyone in Athens is a philosopher thus invokes the language used

by Socrates to define justice, but ironically does not describe an Athens that would

correspond to Socrates' ideal. In other words, Zeus' “just” city, which appears to be

overrun by philosophers, is ruled by Injustice because its citizens are not performing their

allotted tasks but have abandoned them in favor of being philosophers.48

Zeus‟ language recalls Plato‟s Republic but within the overall framework of Old

Comedy that Lucian has established. As this reference to the Republic indicates,

however, Lucian‟s focus on the Athenian law courts is not intended to highlight Athens‟

political and social corruption, as in Aristophanes‟ plays, but its philosophical corruption.

By sending Justice down to Athens, Lucian indicates that his work is in a sense recasting

Athens as a city that fits Socrates‟ definition of justice. Zeus‟ reference to the Republic

48

This characterization of Athens as an unjust city also speaks to the historical change from Plato‟s day,

when “philosopher” was not a widely recognized career, to Lucian‟s when it was.

145

furthermore designates the question of how one should live a philosophical life as the

central question of the Twice Prosecuted, a question that is reiterated in the philosophical

trials, all of which involve personifications of crafts, lifestyles, and intellectual pursuits,

(ηέρλαηο ἢ βίνηο ἢ ἐπηζηήκαηο, TP 13). At this point, I would like to turn my attention to

the trial portion of the text and the representations of the different philosophical schools

that it presents. Within the context established by the opening discussion between Zeus

and Justice, I will suggest that these cases serve as referendums about whether the

philosophical approaches involved possess any merit.

Philosophies on Trial

While Lucian presents five trials leading up to the Syrian‟s, only two are presented in

any detail: the Academy versus Intoxication and the Stoa versus Pleasure. I will

consequently focus first on these trials, before turning to the two trials of the Syrian. In

these two early trials Lucian presents us with comic caricatures of each philosophical

school that allows him to discard them systematically as useless philosophical approaches

in favor of his comic dialogues as a better approach to philosophy. In making this

argument, Lucian responds to the critiques espoused by Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides that

Old Comedy is lowly, base, and hostile to philosophers by reinventing the genre as a

means of living according to the philosophical ideal of constant questioning and seeking

out knowledge established by Plato‟s Socrates.

The first trial heard by the court involves the Platonic/ Academic tradition and is

concerned with the quarrel between Intoxication and the Academy over the philosophical

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conversion of Polemo.49

This case represents Lucian's direct engagement with the

Academic skeptics, the self-proclaimed followers of Plato. As the trial is about to begin,

however, it is revealed that Intoxication is too drunk to speak her own case and has no

lawyer to speak for her. The Academy, however, steps in and announces that he is willing

to speak both sides of the case (TP 15). In his characterization of the Academy, Lucian

draws on the skeptics' claim to be able to present both sides of any argument.50

Both

Academy‟s speeches, however, address the profligacy of Polemo and how the influence

of the Academy helped him. Lucian thus undermines this supposed feature of ancient

skepticism by having the Academy fail to present two sides of the same argument. Both

speeches end up making the same point, namely that Polemo was a dissolute drunk who

was saved by philosophy. The Academy, consequently, comes across as a dishonest and

rhetorical sect.

The Academy‟s two speeches fail to present both sides of the argument equally

but instead bolster the Academy‟s own image as the successor of Socrates and Plato, a

fact that is indicated by the characterization of Polemo. In the first speech, Polemo is

described in the following way:

ὃο κεζ’ ἡκέξαλ ἐθώκαδελ δηὰ ηο ἀγνξᾶο κέζεο, ςαιηξίαλ ἔρσλ θαὶ

θαηᾳδόκελνο ἕσζελ εἰο ἑζπέξαλ, κεζύσλ ἀεὶ θαὶ θξαηπαιῶλ θαὶ ηὴλ

θεθαιὴλ ηνῖο ζηεθάλνηο δηελζηζκέλνο. θαὶ ηαῦηα ὅηη ἀιεζ, κάξηπξεο

Ἀζελαῖνη ἅπαληεο, νἳ κεδὲ πώπνηε λήθνληα Πνιέκσλα εἶδνλ. ἐπεὶ δὲ ὁ

θαθνδαίκσλ ἐπὶ ηὰο ηο Ἀθαδεκείαο ζύξαο ἐθώκαζελ, ὥζπεξ ἐπὶ πάληαο

εἰώζεη, ἀλδξαπνδηζακέλε αὐηὸλ θαὶ ἀπὸ ηῶλ ρεηξῶλ ηο Μέζεο ἁξπάζαζα

κεηὰ βία θαὶ πξὸο αὑηὴλ ἀγαγνῦζα ὑδξνπνηεῖλ ηε θαηελάγθαζελ θαὶ

49

According to Diogenes Laertius, Polemo lived a dissolute life as a young man but was converted to

philosophy by Xenocrates, who was then head of the Academy, (DL IV.16-20). 50

For a discussion of ancient skepticism, see Long (2006: 43-128). For a detailed analysis of both

speeches, see Braun (1994: 136-159).

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λήθεηλ κεηεδίδαμελ θαὶ ηνὺο ζηεθάλνπο πεξηέζπαζελ θαὶ δένλ πίλεηλ

θαηαθείκελνλ, ῥεκάηηα ζθνιηὰ θαὶ δύζηελα θαὶ πνιιο θξνληίδνο

ἀλάκεζηα ἐπαίδεπζελ

He [Polemo] used to party during the day in the middle of the Agora, with

a female lyre player and a singer until dusk. He was always drunk, hung

over and wearing a garland on his head. And these things are the truth, all

the Athenians can bear witness to it, who never saw Polemo not drinking.

And when that poor guy partied all the way up to the doors of the

Academy just as he was accustomed to do to everyone else, I kidnapped

him and I snatched him from Intoxications' hands by force. I then

compelled him to drink water and I taught him to be sober. I stripped him

of his crowns and, when he ought to be lying down, I taught him my pet

phrases that are riddling, troubling and full of deep thoughts. (Twice

Prosecuted 16)51

This initial image of Polemo presented by the Academy casts Polemo as a Dionysiac

reveler, calling to mind the image of Alcibiades presented at the end of Plato's

Symposium, who similarly bursts into Agathon's house at the end of the Symposium with

a band of revelers.52

The Academy further reinforces this image in its own speech, which

highlights the licentiousness of Polemo's earlier life in comparison to his philosophical

conversion. Alcibiades, however, is famously Socrates' failed student, who chooses the

life of politics over philosophy (Symposium 215e-216c). Though the speech is ostensibly

on behalf of Intoxication, the Academy characterizes Polemo as an Alcibiades figure who

ultimately chooses the route of philosophy. This image of Polemo thus undercuts any

arguments that Academy makes on Intoxication's behalf, a fact that Lucian uses to

undermine our opinion of the Academy.

51

This depiction of Polemo as a figure who abandoned Intoxication for the Academy also invokes the

scenario of Cratinus‟ Pytine and thus looks ahead to Lucian‟s use of it in his own trails 52

See Braun (1994: 138-140).

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If the Academy fails to practice the suspension of judgment as we would expect

of an Academic skeptic and ultimately does not present both sides of the argument, we

find in the second case a similar caricature of the Stoic and Epicurean schools. To briefly

summarize the circumstances surrounding this case, though the quarrel is ostensibly

between the Stoa and Pleasure, Epicurus speaks on Pleasure's behalf. The philosophic

conversion presented in this trial is that of Dionysius, a figure about whom little is

known. Diogenes Laertius records that as a young man he studied under Heraclides and

Zeno, but eventually abandoned the teachings of Zeno and become a follower of the

Cyreniac school. This sect argued for the immediate gratification of the pleasures at hand

rather the more abstract ideal of Epicurus, which regarded pleasure as the telos of

virtue.53

According to Lucian's version of this tale, Dionysius remained a Stoic until an

illness led him to convert to the Cryenaic school. Although Aristippus was ostensibly the

founder of the Cyrenaic school, the choice of Epicurus as Dionysius' advocate allows

Lucian to explore the tensions between the Stoics and Epicureans at the same time as he

jokes about the similarities between the two schools.

In the figures of the Stoa and Epicurus, Lucian once again presents us with

stereotypical representations of the two schools. While the Stoa is depicted as manly and

obsessed with virtue and hardship, citing such Stoic models as Heracles and Theseus,

Epicurus expounds on the futility of the Stoic ideal of virtue in comparison to the

importance he places on pleasure (TP 20-1). In his personifications of these two

53

Annas (1993: 334). For a discussion of the influence of Socrates on Aristippus, see Tarrant (1994). For a

general discussion of the school, see Long (2006: 204).

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approaches, Lucian does not present his audience with a novel interpretation of them or

their quarrel, but offers caricatures of the two schools, which highlight the futility of their

arguments rather than the benefits or pitfalls of either approach. Despite the fact that

Epicurus wins the day, the Stoa refuses to accept the judgment of the jury and instead

insists on appealing to Zeus, (TP 22-3). If his representation of the Academy illustrates

the corruption of that branch of philosophy, this second case suggests that the quarreling

between the Stoics and Epicureans will never be resolved.

Lucian's presentation of the quarrel between the Stoics and Epicureans casts such

philosophical debates as futile and ridiculous, a characterization that is reinforced by the

ensuing three cases, none of which are actually heard by the court. The third case,

between Virtue and Luxury, who are fighting over Aristippus, is deemed so similar to the

case of the Stoa and Pleasure that Justice decides that it will have the same outcome as

the preceding case. Aristippus was the founder of the Cyrenaic school and Justice's

decision to lump this case in with the Stoa's trial of Pleasure effectively renders the

Cyreniac school as nothing more than a variation of Epicureanism. Similarly, the fourth

case between Diogenes and Banking is not heard because Diogenes chases her off with

his staff. Though this humorous moment presents us with only a glimpse of the Cynics,

Diogenes' philosophy comes across as equated with violence. Lucian continues his

mockery of these philosophical schools in the case between Pyrrho and Painting when

Hermes informs Justice that Pyhrro has failed to show up to court because he will not

accept the fact that there is such a thing as true judgment. While the Academy failed to

live up to the ideal that it set for itself, Pyrrho here represents the ideal skeptic, yet his

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refusal to accept the judgment of the court indicates that his approach to philosophy is

ultimately a pointless one.

The Syrian’s Philosophic Reinvention of Old Comedy

Now that we have seen how Lucian mocks the philosophical schools that grew out of the

Socratic tradition by drawing on stereotypical images of them, we can now turn our

attention to Lucian‟s presentation of his philosophical reinvention of Old Comedy as the

solution to the philosophical corruption depicted in the previous trials. Unlike the other

trials, which present philosophic schools quarreling over a recent convert, Rhetoric and

Dialogue are not fighting over the Syrian’s allegiance. Rather, they are suing him for the

way that he has treated them. The scenario of both Rhetoric and Dialogue attacking the

Syrian thus recreates the tension found in many of Plato‟s dialogues between various

sophists and Socrates. As I will argue, Lucian recasts this Platonic tension through a

comedic lens, specifically through Cratinus' Pytine, and in doing so follows in the

footsteps of Plato's Socrates in revealing the inherent flaws of Rhetoric. Lucian's version

of Rhetoric, however, does not evoke the image of a Gorgias or a Hippias but, rather, a

figure that parodies the sophists of Lucian‟s own day. Likewise, Dialogue's speech

characterizes the genre as focused not on justice and truth, which consumed Socrates'

discussions but rather on metaphysical questions such as the cycle of the universe (ηο

ηῶλ ὅισλ πεξηόδνπ, TP 33), which, according to the Syrian, have rendered Dialogue

unappealing and obscure. Lucian thus defends his use comedy by establishing it not only

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as a method of exposing charlatan philosophers as we saw in the Fisherman but also as

the saving grace of philosophy that will return it to its former glories.

According to Justice, the Syrian's two trials are added to the docket of cases

because they likewise involve a ηέχνη and an ἐπιζηήμη. Since Rhetoric’s status as a

ηέχνη is clear, it is initially ambiguous how we should classify Dialogue: as another ηέχνη

or as an ἐπιζηήμη? In the other cases, the ἐπιζηῆμαι represented are philosophical

schools. Though Dialogue does not fall into that category, it nonetheless represents a tool

by which knowledge is sought, specifically that of Plato's Socrates. Lucian here thus

seems to be elevating what had been a ηέχνη for Plato to the status of an ἐπιζηήμη. In

the first of these cases, Rhetoric argues that the Syrian has abandoned her, his wife, in

favor of Dialogue. This scenario, as Bowie has suggested, draws its inspiration from

Cratinus’ Wine Flask, a fragmentary play that “boldly portrayed” Cratinus as the hero and

imagined that the poet’s wife, Comedy, was suing him for divorce because of his

propensity to drink.54

As scholars have suggested, the Wine Flask represents Cratinus’

response to Aristophanes’ characterization of him in the parabasis of the Knights as a

drunkard. 55

Lucian thus adopts this scenario, replacing Comedy with Rhetoric and

Drunkenness with philosophical Dialogue. This change in the cast of characters pits

Rhetoric against Dialogue and consequently recalls the tension between rhetoric and

philosophy found in such dialogues as the Protagoras, the Republic, the Phaedrus, and

the Gorgias. In the Gorgias, for example, the tension between rhetoric and philosophy

54

Bowie (2007: 36). For discussions of the comedic rivalry between Cratinus and Aristophanes, see Heath

(1990), Rosen (2000), and Biles (2002). Braun (1994) analyzes the connections to Demosthenes. 55

See Aristophanes’ Knights (526-536).

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stems from Socrates’ attempts to define Gorgias’ “craft,” namely rhetoric: βνύινκαη γὰξ

ππζέζζαη παξ’ αὐηνῦ ηίο ἡ δύλακηο ηο ηέρλεο ηνῦ ἀλδξόο, θαὶ ηί ἐζηηλ ὃ ἐπαγγέιιεηαί ηε

θαὶ δηδάζθεη· (For I want to learn from him what is the power of his craft, and what is it

that he makes claims about and teaches, 447c). As Socrates’ discussion with the sophist

reveals, Gorgias’ assertion that a speaker possesses knowledge on a wide variety of topics

that can be imparted to students is flawed. This leads Gorgias to retreat from the

discussion and his side of the argument is taken up by his two students, Callicles and

Polus. Both students are hostile to Socrates’ point of view and the tension between

rhetoric and philosophy pervades the entire dialogue.

Lucian uses comedy to invoke this tension in the complex images that

contemporary sophists, such as Dio and Favorinus, fashioned for themselves as sophistic

and philosophical figures.56

As in Cratinus' play, Rhetoric charges that the Syrian

abandoned their marriage, despite the fact that she endowed the Syrian with the paideia

necessary for becoming a famous sophist:

γὼ γάξ, ὦ ἄλδξεο δηθαζηαί, ηνπηνλὶ θνκηδῆ κεηξάθηνλ ὄληα, βάξβαξνλ

ἔηη ηὴλ θσλὴλ θαὶ κνλνλνπρὶ θάλδπλ ἐλδεδπθόηα εἰο ηὸλ Ἀζζύξηνλ

ηξόπνλ, πεξὶ ηὴλ Ἰσλίαλ εὑξνῦζα πιαδόκελνλ ἔηη θαὶ ὅ ηη ρξήζαηην ἑαπηῷ

νὐθ εἰδόηα παξαιαβνῦζα ἐπαίδεπζα.

It was I, men of the jury, who came upon this man, still wandering around

Ionia not knowing what to do with himself, took him up and trained him.

He was pretty young, still spoke a barbarian language and was a hair's

breadth from going native and wearing an Assyrian kaftan. (TP 27)

56

For a discussion of these figures, see Swain (1996) and Whitmarsh (2001).

153

Rhetoric here emphasizes the Syrian‟s non-Hellenic identity and how her paideia brought

him into the mainstream Greek society, suggesting the ηέχνη of rhetoric has the power to

overcome the Syrian‟s outsider status.

In his defense against Rhetoric‟s charges, however, the Syrian attacks the way of

life embodied by Rhetoric. While he admits that he did benefit from her instruction, her

inability to remain faithful led him to turn to Dialogue:

γὼ γὰξ ὁξῶλ ηαύηελ νὐθέηη ζσθξνλνῦζαλ νὐδὲ κέλνπζαλ ἐπὶ ηνῦ

θνζκίνπ ζρήκαηνο νἷόλ νὐδὲ κέλνπζαλ ἐπὶ ηνῦ θνζκίνπ ζρήκαηνο νἷόλ

πνηε ἐζρεκαηηζκέλελ αὐηὴλ ὁ Παηαληεὺο ἐθεῖλνο ἠγάγεην, θνζκνπκέλελ

δὲ θαὶ ηὰο ηξίραο εὐζεηίδνπζαλ εἰο ηὸ ἑηαηξηθὸλ θαὶ θπθίνλ ἐληξηβνκέλελ

θαὶ ηὠθζαικὼ ὑπνγξαθνκέλελ, ὑπώπηεπνλ εὐζὺο θαὶ παξεθύιαηηνλ ὅπνη

ηὸλ ὀθζαικὸλ θέξεη. θαὶ ηὰ κὲλ ἄιια ἐῶ· θαζ’ ἑθάζηελ δὲ ηὴλ λύθηα ὁ

κὲλ ζηελσπὸο ἡκῶλ ἐλεπίκπιαην κεζπόλησλ ἐξαζηῶλ θσκαδόλησλ ἐπ’

αὐηὴλ θαὶ θνπηόλησλ ηὴλ ζύξαλ

There came a time when I saw that she was not behaving sensibly any

longer, nor retaining the seemly dress which she wore when the famous

demesman of Paeania took her as his bride. Instead, she was wearing

jewelry, had coiffeured hair, had rubbed rouge all over her cheeks and had

a black line drawn under each of her eyes. I was immediately suspicious

and I watched to see where she turned her gaze. I can pass over

everything else. I'll just tell you this. Every single night our side-street

was packed with drunken lovers reveling up to her door and knocking on

it... (TP 30)

According to the Syrian's description of rhetoric, she is no longer the honorable art once

practiced by Demosthenes, the “famous demesman of Paeania,” but instead is a slut. The

distinction drawn here by the Syrian between the rhetoric of Demosthenes‟ day and that

of his own indicates that Rhetoric‟s immorality represents a critique of contemporary

sophists. By characterizing Rhetoric in the role of the comically unfaithful wife, the

Syrian successfully escapes the charges of abandonment. Whereas Plato employed

Socrates' dialectical skills to attack rhetoric, Lucian uses comedy both to reignite the

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tension between rhetoric and philosophy and to highlight the problems of contemporary

rhetoric. In other words, comedy achieves for Lucian what the elenchus did for Socrates.

Lucian does not address the seminal role of comedy in his approach to

philosophy, however, until Dialogue's prosecution of the Syrian on the charge of hubris.

Whereas Lucian borrowed the scenario of Cratinus' Wine Flask to recall the tension

between rhetoric and philosophy in texts such as the Gorgias, the language of Dialogue's

prosecution simultaneously evokes the language of the Clouds and the Phaedrus to

describe the Syrian's treatment of him:

Ἃ δὲ ἠδίθεκαη θαὶ πεξηύβξηζκαη πξὸο ηνύηνπ, ηαῦηά ἐζηηλ, ὅηη κε ζεκλὸλ

ηέσο ὄληα θαὶ ζεῶλ ηε πέξη θαὶ θύζεσο θαὶ ηο ηῶλ ὅισλ πεξηόδνπ

ζθνπνύκελνλ, ὑςειὸλ ἄλσ πνπ ηῶλ λεθῶλ ἀεξνβαηνῦληα, ἔλζα ὁ κέγαο ἐλ

νὐξαλῷ Ζεὺο πηελὸλ ἅξκα ἐιαύλσλ θέξεηαη, θαηαζπάζαο αὐηὸο ἤδε θαηὰ

ηὴλ ἁςῖδα πεηόκελνλ θαὶ ἀλαβαίλνληα ὑπὲξ ηὰ λῶηα ηνῦ νὐξαλνῦ θαὶ ηὰ

πηεξὰ ζπληξίςαο ἰζνδίαηηνλ ηνῖο πνιινῖο ἐπνίεζελ

Now, I'm going to tell you how this man has wronged and mistreated me.

I used to be majestic. I inquired into subjects such as, 'the gods, 'nature,'

'the universal periodic cycle.' I 'trod on air,' high above the clouds, where

'great Zeus driving his winged chariot is born along. I was actually flying

through the vault of heaven and climbing 'the sky's back,' when this fellow

dragged me down, broke my wings and made me life the same life as

ordinary people.

According to Dialogue, he was initially interested in cosmological questions about the

gods and the universe. In describing this metaphysical focus, however, Dialogue‟s

description of himself as walking on air (ἀεξνβαηνῦληα) where Zeus drives his chariot

(ἔλζα ὁ κέγαο ἐλ νὐξαλῷ Ζεὺο πηελὸλ ἅξκα ἐιαύλσλ θέξεηαη) ironically draws first on

the language used by Socrates to describe himself in the Clouds (ἀεξνβαηῶ θαὶ

πεξηθξνλῶ ηὸλ ἥιηνλ, 225) and then on the metaphor of the chariot found in the

155

Phaedrus.57

Dialogue‟s language subtly hints at Lucian‟s literary project, the very thing

with which he is charging the Syrian. Furthermore, the charge that he degraded Dialogue

reminds us of Plutarch‟s characterization of Old Comedy as inappropriate for the

pepaideumenos to study. Dialogue conveys this view specifically through his reference to

the chariot analogy taken from the Phaedrus.58

For Plato‟s Socrates, the image of chariot

serves as a metaphor of the soul, which is pulled by two horses: a good one that stays on

course, and a bad one that represents our appetitive desires, which prevent the soul from

ever obtaining knowledge.59

In his description of his former self, Dialogue thus equates

the Syrian with the bad horse and in doing so, makes the bold insinuation that if not for

the Syrian, he would have achieved knowledge. Lucian, however, subverts this assertion

by his use of comic language to describe Dialogue‟s former self. By linking language

from the Clouds with that of the Phaedrus within Dialogue‟s speech, Lucian once again

reminds us of the tension between comedy and philosophy that has provoked Dialogue‟s

prosecution of the Syrian and ultimately the Twice Prosecuted.

The Syrian's use of comedy is thus at the heart of Dialogue's prosecution. For as

Dialogue contends, what ultimately broke his wings and distracted him from his

metaphysical questioning was a variety of comic genres that the Syrian forced upon him:

θαὶ ηὸ κὲλ ηξαγηθὸλ ἐθεῖλν θαὶ ζσθξνληθὸλ πξνζσπεῖνλ ἀθεῖιέ κνπ,

θσκηθὸλ δὲ θαὶ ζαηπξηθὸλ ἄιιν ἐπέζεθέ κνη θαὶ κηθξνῦ δεῖλ γεινῖνλ. εἶηά

κνη εἰο ηὸ αὐηὸ θέξσλ ζπγθαζεῖξμελ ηὸ ζθῶκκα θαὶ ηὸλ ἴακβνλ θαὶ

θπληζκὸλ θαὶ ηὸλ Εὔπνιηλ θαὶ ηὸλ Ἀξηζηνθάλε, δεηλνὺο ἄλδξαο

ἐπηθεξηνκζαη ηὰ ζεκλὰ θαὶ ριεπάζαη ηὰ ὀξζῶο ἔρνληα. ηειεπηαῖνλ δὲ θαὶ

57

The line, ἀεποβαηῶ καὶ πεπιθπονῶ ηὸν ἥλιον, is also spoken by Strepsiades as he burns down the

Thinkery at the end of the play, (1503). 58

The switch from Intoxication in Cratinus‟ play to philosophical dialogues contains another connection to

the Phaedrus: at 244-245 Socrates discusses the value of mania, of which drunkenness is one form, (245a). 59

For an in-depth analysis of function of this analogy in the dialogue, see Griswold (1986: 138-157).

156

Μέληππόλ ηηλα ηῶλ παιαηῶλ θπλῶλ κάια ὑιαθηηθὸλ… Πῶο νὖλ νὐ δεηλὰ

ὕβξηζκαη κεθέη’ ἐπὶ ηνῦ νἰθείνπ δηαθείκελνο, ἀιιὰ θσκῳδῶλ θαὶ

γεισηνπνηῶλ θαὶ ὑπνζέζεηο ἀιινθόηνπο ὑπνθξηλόκελνο αὐηῷ; ηὸ γὰξ

πάλησλ ἀηνπώηαηνλ, θξᾶζίλ ηηλα παξάδνμνλ θέθξακαη θαὶ νὔηε πεδόο εἰκη

νὔηε ἐπὶ ηῶλ κέηξσλ βέβεθα, ἀιιὰ ἱππνθεληαύξνπ δίθελ ζύλζεηόλ ηη θαὶ

μέλνλ θάζκα ηνῖο ἀθνύνπζη δνθῶ.

He took off my sensible tragic mask and put on another, comic, satyr-like

and almost ridiculous. Then he shut me up in the same room with joking,

iambus, cynicism, Eupolis and Aristophanes –men terribly clever at

criticizing serious things and pouring scorn on what is right and proper.

Finally, he even dug up one of the ancient dogs, Menippus...Is this not

contemptuous treatment? I've lost my natural character. I'm a comic, I'm

a clown who has to act bizarre roles for him. The most absurd thing of all

is that I've been stirred into a paradoxical mixture. I'm not prose and I'm

not poetry. The audience looks on me as some sort of Centaur, a strange

and compound monster. (TP 33)

Dialogue here uses words, such as ηξαγηθὸλ and ζσθξνληθὸλ, to stress his seriousness as

a genre and to emphasize the degradation he experienced at the Syrian’s hands because

he was forced to consort with a variety of comic influences, ranging from Old Comedy to

Cynicism and Menippean satire. Though Dialogue here places particular emphasis on

both Old Comedy and Menippean satire, the Syrian‟s response leaves us in little doubt

that Old Comedy represents the most important influence on his approach to the genre of

the philosophic dialogue: ἐπὶ πᾶζη δὲ ηὴλ θσκῳδίαλ αὐηῷ παξέδεπμα (But the most

important thing I did was to yoke him up with Comedy, TP 34). Whereas Lucian makes

Old Comedy philosophically valuable in the case between the Syrian and Rhetoric by

using it to expose the flaws of rhetoric as a craft, here Lucian indicates that Old Comedy

represents his rejuvenation of the philosophical dialogue. This idea of rejuvenation is

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itself a comic idea and Lucian here asserts that he has given philosophy a comic

makeover.60

Though Dialogue appears content with its metaphysical pursuits, the Syrian

argues that it is precisely this line of questioning that has rendered the genre unappealing

and obscure. According to the Syrian's description of Dialogue's former self, most

people considered him ζθπζξσπὸλ (sullen looking), ὑπὸ ηῶλ ζπλερῶλ ἐξσηήζεσλ

θαηεζθιεθόηα (withered with continuous question and answer sessions), and ultimately

unpleasant. As the Syrian contends, what makes the genre unappealing is specifically the

type of questions that it asks:

Ἀιι’ ἐγὼ νἶδ’ ὅπεξ κάιηζηα ιππεῖ αὐηόλ, ὅηη κὴ ηὰ γιίζρξα ἐθεῖλα θαὶ

ιεπηὰ θάζεκαη πξὸο αὐηὸλ ζκηθξνινγνύκελνο, εἰ ἀζάλαηνο ἡ ςπρή, θαὶ

πόζαο θνηύιαο ὁ ζεὸο ὁπόηε ηὸλ θόζκνλ εἰξγάζαην ηο ἀκηγνῦο θαὶ θαηὰ

ηαὐηὰ ἐρνύζεο νὐζίαο ἐλέρεελ εἰο ηὸλ θξαηξα ἐλ ᾧ ηὰ πάληα ἐθεξάλλπην,

θαὶ εἰ ἡ Ῥεηνξηθὴ πνιηηηθο κνξίνπ εἴδσινλ, θνιαθείαο ηὸ ηέηαξηνλ.

ραίξεη γὰξ νὐθ νἶδ’ ὅπσο ηὰ ηνηαῦηα ιεπηνινγῶλ θαζάπεξ νἱ ηὴλ ςώξαλ

ἡδέσο θλώκελνη, θαὶ ηὸ θξόληηζκα ἡδὺ αὐηῷ δνθεῖ θαὶ κέγα θξνλεῖ ἢλ

ιέγεηαη ὡο νὐ παληὸο ἀλδξόο ἐζηη ζπληδεῖλ ἃ πεξὶ ηῶλ ἰδεῶλ ὀμπδνξθεῖ

Actually, I know what it is that's really upsetting him. It's the fact that I

don't sit down and engage in all that nit picking logic chopping with him.

'Is the soul immortal?' 'How many ladles of the unmixed essence of real

being did the god pour into the mixing-bowl in which everything was

combined when he constructed the universe?' „Is Rhetoric only a phantom

of a portion of politics, or is it a quarter art of flattery?‟ He's incredibly

attached to this type of logical minutiae. He's like a man scratching an

itch. When it's put to him that not everyone can see the truth about the

Platonic Ideas as sharply as he can, he finds the thought most pleasant and

gives himself airs on that account. (TP 34)

In his voicing of Dialogue‟s primary interests, the Syrian draws here on questions pulled

from several of Plato‟s dialogues: “is the soul immortal,” represents the central question

60

See the end of Aristophanes‟ Wasps and Cratinus‟ Wine Flask.

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of the Phaedo, while “how many ladles of unmixed essence of real being did the god

pour into the mixing-bowl?” looks to the Timaeus and the question concerning

Rhetoric‟s relationship to politics and flattery is drawn from the Gorgias.61

These are

thus not the logic chopping questions that the Syrian paints them to be, but are

representative of Plato‟s works. The Syrian‟s point, however, is not that there is

something inherently wrong with these questions as they are posed in Plato‟s dialogues,

but rather that Dialogue as a genre has not moved posed any new ones that might be

more relevant to Lucian‟s society. He is, as it were, scratching the same itch. This itch,

according to the Syrian, is too focused on the “Platonic Ideas,” doctrines not found in

Plato‟s own writings.62

As we have seen so far, Lucian‟s portrayal of contemporary

philosophers throughout this text, as well as that of the Fisherman, has highlighted how

they are fakes, who merely adopt a philosopher‟s outward appearance. The Syrian‟s

point here is ultimately that those who pose these questions do so in order to appear to be

philosophers. In other words, these questions, which were originally posed by Plato,

have become part of a philosopher‟s garb. As the Syrian‟s defense suggests, Lucian

regards his comic dialogues as a new philosophic approach. This approach represents a

return to the type of questioning embodied by the Socratic elenchus, which allows

Lucian to shift the focus away from the problems posed in Plato‟s dialogues to those he

sees around him, in particular charlatan philosophers. As the previous philosophical

61

As Sidwell notes, these themes appear in the Phaedo, Timaeus (35a, 41d), and Gorgias (463b, d, 465c)

respectively, (2005: 358 n.47). See also Braun (1994: 380-83). 62

The idea of “Platonic Ideas” appears in such dialogues as the Republic (book 7) and the Phaedrus but is

not ever fully developed by Plato in the dialogues. Dillon hypothesizes that they may have been part of the

unwritten doctrines (1977: 1-11). See also Szlezák (1999).

159

trials suggest, Lucian rejects the contemporary philosophical schools because of their

corruption and ridiculousness. Instead he both adopts an approach that combines

elements of Cynicism and Skepticism to reject dogmatism and advocates harsh scrutiny

in a search for answers. This effectively revitalizes the view espoused by Plato‟s

Socrates in Phaedrus’ chariot analogy that humans are never able to achieve knowledge.

In this characterization of Dialogue, the Syrian paints a similar portrait of the

genre as found in the Literary Prometheus, albeit in more depth. As we saw in the first

chapter, Lucian presents his union of comedy and the philosophical dialogue as a return

to the type of questioning embodied in the figure of Plato's Socrates. In Dialogue's

characterization of himself, we saw how Lucian employs the language of Plato's

Phaedrus to symbolize Dialogue's lofty interests and claim to knowledge. At the

conclusion of this speech, the Syrian returns to this assertion only to conclude that these

interests are what led him astray:

Ταῦηα δειαδὴ θαὶ παξ’ ἐκνῦ ἀπαηηεῖ θαὶ ηὰ πηεξὰ ἐθεῖλα δεηεῖ θαὶ ἄλσ

βιέπεη ηὰ πξὸ ηνῖλ πνδνῖλ νὐρ ὁξῶλ. ἐπεὶ ηῶλ γε ἄιισλ ἕλεθα νὐθ ἂλ νἶκαη

κέκςαηηό κνη, ὡο ζνἰκάηηνλ ηνῦην ηὸ ιιεληθὸλ πεξηζπάζαο αὐηνῦ

βαξβαξηθόλ ηη κεηελέδπζα, θαὶ ηαῦηα βάξβαξνο αὐηὸο εἶλαη δνθῶλ·

ἠδίθνπλ γὰξ ἂλ ηὰ ηνηαῦηα εἰο αὐηὸλ παξαλνκῶλ θαὶ ηὴλ πάηξηνλ ἐζζηα

ισπνδπηῶλ

I suppose that it's this that he's looking for from me. He wants those wings

of his back. He's always looking up. He can't see what's at his feet. I can't

think that he would have any other grounds for blaming me. He can't say,

for example, that I've torn off his Greek cloak and put him into barbarian

costume, even though people think I am a barbarian. That would certainly

have been a crime, to steal his native dress. (TP 34)

In his response to Dialogue's evocation of Socrates' chariot analogy, the Syrian flips it on

its head and suggests that Dialogue has lost track of the problems in front of him, an

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image that recalls the Thales falling into the well from Plato's Theaetetus (Theaetetus

174a).

Up to this point, the problem of the Syrian's non-Greek status has been left

unaddressed by Lucian's persona. As a figure that purports to have saved philosophy, the

Syrian occupies the precarious position of an outsider, a fact that he acknowledges here at

the conclusion of his speech. Lucian here emphasizes his non-Greek origins and in doing

so, perhaps looks to his philosophic predecessor, Socrates. Though a figure who rarely

leaves the city walls of Athens, Socrates declares himself to be a foreigner (ξένορ) at the

opening of the Apology, since he has never come before a law court, a fact that essentially

makes him a barbarian when it comes to the Athenian legal system:

λῦλ ἐγὼ πξῶηνλ ἐπὶ δηθαζηήξηνλ ἀλαβέβεθα, ἔηε γεγνλὼο ἑβδνκήθνληα·

ἀηερλῶο νὖλ μέλσο ἔρσ ηο ἐλζάδε ιέμεσο. ὥζπεξ νὖλ ἄλ, εἰ ηῷ ὄληη μέλνο

ἐηύγραλνλ ὤλ, ζπλεγηγλώζθεηε δήπνπ ἄλ κνη εἰ ἐλ ἐθείλῃ ηῆ θσλῆ ηε θαὶ

ηῷ ηξόπῳ ἔιεγνλ ἐλ νἷζπεξ ἐηεζξάκκελ

Now is the first time I have come before the law court, at the age of

seventy; hence I am simply a foreigner to the manner of speech here. So

just as, if I really did happen to be a foreigner, you would surely

sympathize with me if I spoke in the dialect and way in which I was

raised… (Apology 17d-18a)

Socrates‟ self-proclaimed “foreignness” shows him to be unfamiliar with the rhetoric of

the law courts. If Lucian‟s emphasis on his own foreignness is in fact inspired by

Socrates‟ statements in the Apology, then Socrates‟ disclaimer here provides us with a

model for Lucian‟s abandonment of Rhetoric in the first trial.63

Though Socrates‟

explicit reference to his “foreignness” (μέλνο) is ultimately a metaphorical foreignness, I

will conclude this discussion by suggesting that Lucian highlights his origins in this text

63

We find a similar image of a foreign sage who is unfamiliar with Athenian customs in the Anacharsis.

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not simply because he feels a need to defend his claim to the Greek literary canon, but

also because it allows him to connect his own comedic apology with Plato‟s portrayal of

Socrates‟ more clearly. In defending his new approach to philosophy, Lucian thus casts

himself as the comic Socrates.

Though Lucian postpones his comedic apology until the end of the Twice

Prosecuted, he nonetheless sets it within a framework of Old Comedy not unlike that of

Parrhesiades in the Fisherman. Just as Aristophanes used comedy to highlight the

political and social corruption of Athens, Lucian‟s comedy points to the philosophical

corruption of his contemporaries who hold up Athens as the birthplace of Plato and

Socrates but fail to live up to the philosophical principles that those figures established.

To highlight this philosophical corruption, Lucian draws on the comedic trope of

mocking the Athenian court system and presents us with his own philosophical trials.

Unlike the trial of Socrates, the philosophical schools on trial in the Twice Prosecuted are

caricatures intended to emphasize the problems of each philosophical approach. In

contrast to these schools, Lucian presents us with his persona, the Syrian, who uses

comedy as a tool for exposing the flaws of rhetoric as a practice and in doing so

reinvigorate philosophy by returning its focus to Socrates' social and moral concerns. By

presenting the two trials of his persona alongside personifications of the Academy, the

Stoa, as well as Diogenes and Pyhrro, Lucian indicates that his comic dialogues are

within the tradition that sprung out the figure of Socrates, while at the same time the

remedy for the degradation of that tradition that he sees around him.

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III. Conclusions

In both the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted, Lucian offers an Apology for Old

Comedy that answers the charges leveled at the genre both by his contemporaries and

ultimately by Plato's Socrates. As we saw in our discussion of Aristophanes‟ reception in

the writings of Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides in the introduction, Old Comedy had the

reputation of being a vulgar genre that was hostile to philosophers. The popularity of Old

Comedy among such writers was thus deeply connected to its status as a problematic

genre. Lucian responds to these views in his apologies for the genre by turning to its

original role as a socially corrective force and refocusing it towards the philosophy and

philosophers of his own time. In the Fisherman, Parrhesiades proves this fact to the

figureheads of the philosophical tradition by using it as a means of exposing charlatan

philosophers. The Fisherman thus attributes to Old Comedy specific philosophical value

at the same time as it uses Old Comedy to expose the flaws inherent in the approach that

only values tradition as embodied in the figure of Diogenes. The Twice Prosecuted takes

a slightly different approach to the comedic apology, focusing instead on how it effects

Lucian's treatment of preconceived genres. As the Syrian's defense illustrates, comedy

allows him to expose the problems inherent in the practice of rhetoric and in doing so

save the philosophical dialogue. In his comic dialogues, Lucian reinvents Old Comedy

with specific philosophic purpose that involves the type of social questioning once seen

in the figure of Socrates and the subsequent Cynic and Skeptic traditions. As the

Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted reveal, however, Lucian believes that this message

is no longer part of the contemporary schools, consumed as they are with petty bickering.

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Old Comedy‟s new philosophic purpose thus answers the critiques of the genre initiated

by Plato and reaffirmed by Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides.

From the accounts of the comic dialogue found in the prologues and these

apologetic texts, we have seen Lucian‟s basic formulation for his new generic hybrid as

the forced union of Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue that results in a philosophical

reinvention of the low-register genre or, in other words, Old Comedy put to philosophical

use. Although the descriptions of the comic dialogue discussed in this and the previous

chapter might suggest a rigid view of the genre, for example comic allusions found in a

dialogue context, in the following two chapters I will argue that Lucian‟s comic dialogues

represent a quite fluid genre. This fluidity appears both in terms of Lucian‟s debt to the

comic tradition, which I will explore in the next chapter, and his imitation of Platonic

dialogue, the focus of the final chapter. Lucian‟s accounts of his union of Old Comedy

and Platonic dialogue thus ask us to take notice of the comic and Platonic resonances

within his texts. These features, as I will argue, allow for the possibility of new ways of

regarding Lucian‟s relationship to his philosophical predecessors and supposed

contemporaries, such as Menippus and Nigrinus, by revealing Lucian to be crafting

himself as a philosophical writer in his own right.

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Chapter 3

Examples of the Comic Dialogue in Motion:

The Menippus, Icaromenippus, Parasite, and Hermotimus

In the previous chapter, I have argued that Lucian‘s defense against charges of distorting

the Greek philosophical tradition responds to a wide-spread trend during the Second

Sophistic of attacking Old Comedy in imitation of Socrates in Plato‘s Apology. Whereas

Plutarch, Dio, and Aristides rehearse Socrates‘ assertion that Aristophanes‘ Clouds

played a role in the charges brought against him, in the Fisherman and Twice Prosecuted

Lucian champions comedy‘s cause by reinventing Socrates‘ philosophical apology as an

apology for comedy. In offering a defense for comedy that is simultaneously modeled on

Old Comedy and Plato‘s Apology, Lucian attributes philosophical value to the genre by

arguing that it is a necessary tool for correcting the philosophical corruption plaguing the

intellectual climate of his day. Moreover, these texts reveal Lucian to be modeling his

comedic-philosophical style on both the comic and Platonic manifestations of Socrates,

as well as his subsequent reinterpretation by the Hellenistic tradition.

Since the texts discussed in the previous chapters have presented us with a

definition of Lucian‘s comic dialogue as a genre, this chapter will begin to explore how

Lucian enacts this literary and philosophical program by staging (and thereby attempting

to resolve) the sectarian debates of the philosophical schools in four key texts: the

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Menippus, Icaromenippus, Parasite, and Hermotimus. Closely intertwined with this

problem is that of philosophical education, an issue that Lucian roots in the Clouds and,

as I will suggest in this chapter, Plato‘s discussions of the sophists. Much as he

harmonizes Aristophanic comedy and Plato‘s Apology in articulating his literary defense,

here again Lucian fuses the Aristophanic and Platonic depictions of sophistry. In

considering Lucian‘s criticisms of the philosophers of his day, I will argue that each of

these texts highlights a different significant aspect of Lucian‘s project: the Menippus and

Icaromenippus illustrate Lucian‘s literary and philosophical style in contradistinction to

the seriocomic figure of the Cynic Menippus, a potential foil for Lucian‘s own project;

the Parasite in turn offers Lucian‘s philosophical reinvention of comedy as a possible

solution to conflict between the Stoics and Epicureans; and the Hermotimus aligns

Lucian‘s project with that of Plato at the same time as it reaffirms his position within both

the philosophical and comic traditions. 1 My reading of these texts will therefore stand in

contrast to previous interpretations of Lucian, which have largely sought to define Lucian

in terms of previously established philosophical traditions, for example Cynicism,

Epicureanism, and Skepticism.2 Although Lucian signals his debt to these traditions, I

will argue that these texts reveal Lucian not simply to be adopting comedy for serious

purposes, but to be establishing his union of comedy and philosophy as a philosophical

approach in its own right. In doing this, Lucian situates himself as the heir to both

Aristophanes and Plato.

1 For this label of Menippus, see Branham (1989: 14-17 and 20-25) and Relihan (1993: 9)

2 For discussion of Lucian in connection to the Cynics, see Branham (1989). For an Epicurean connection,

see Clay (1992), and for Lucian as a skeptic, see Nesselrath (1992). For a survey of Lucian‘s presentation

of the different schools, see Dolcetti (1998).

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I. Philosopher as Comic Character: Menippus

At the opening of both the Menippus and Icaromenippus, Menippus recounts to a

bemused and incredulous companion how his dissatisfaction with philosophers‘

understandings of the gods and the universe drove him to seek answers in the underworld

and heavens respectively. These fantastical voyages are inspired by the Odyssey and,

more importantly for our discussion, Aristophanes‘ Frogs and Peace.3 Such comic

resonances are striking when we consider the fact that, as we saw in the Fisherman and

the Twice Prosecuted, Menippus is cited among the sources used by Lucian to degrade

philosophy.4 In light of Menippus‘ inclusion within the charges brought against Lucian‘s

personae, this section will therefore pose the following questions: how does Lucian

define his relationship to Menippus in these dialogues? And does Menippus represent an

instantiation of the comic-Socratic approach as defined by Lucian in the Fisherman and

Twice Prosecuted?5

To answer these questions, we will begin by examining the union of comedy and

philosophy that Lucian presents at the opening of these two dialogues. In the Fisherman

and the Twice Prosecuted we saw how Lucian reinvented the philosophical apology by

presenting it within a framework borrowed from Old Comedy. In this section, I will

3 For this connection to Aristophanes, see Branham (1989: 14-15) and Relihan (1993: 32 and 113).

4 In the Fisherman, Diogenes notes that Menippus alone is not included among Parrhesiades‘ prosecutors

(ὃο κόλνο νὐ πάξεζηηλ νὐδὲ θαηεγνξεῖ κεζ‘ ἡκλ, 26), while in the Twice Prosecuted, Dialogue lists

Menippus as among the genres used by the Syrian to corrupt him, (ηειεπηαῖνλ δὲ θαὶ Μέληππόλ ηηλα

ηλ παιαηλ θπλλ, 33). 5 Besides the Menippus and Icaromenippus, Menippus appears as a reoccurring character in the Dialogues

of the Dead. For a discussion of his role in that text, see Relihan (1987). In addition to these texts, other

texts to varying degrees have been labeled as ―Menippean,‖ for example the Downward Descent, the

Tragic Zeus, and the Charon.

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suggest that the openings of the Menippus and Icaromenippus reveal the opposite

structure: Menippus‘ comically inspired voyages cast him as a figure from Old Comedy

within the larger context of a dialogue designed to explore the merits of his philosophical

approach. My discussion of these texts will therefore be structured in the following way:

I will begin by briefly contextualizing Lucian‘s Menippus in terms of Menippus the

historical figure, before turning to consider how Lucian uses comic references to cast

Menippus as a comic figure and undermine his philosophical approach. Lucian, as I will

argue, uses comedy within these dialogues to distance himself from his protagonist, a

point further reinforced by the presence of topographical references in the

Icaromenippus, which firmly situate the dramatic date of the dialogue within the

Hellenistic period. Whereas Lucian invokes comedy in the Fisherman and Twice

Prosecuted to define his relationship to the philosophical tradition, in these texts he uses

the dialogue form to interrogate Menippus‘ comedic approach to philosophy and his own

relationship to it.

The Shadowy Figure of Menippus

The Menippus and Icaromenippus engage as much with the figure of Menippus as they

do the questions that he poses within them. As the focus of these dialogues, Menippus,

like Diogenes in the Fisherman, represents Lucian‘s comic recreation of a historical

figure and, to better understand how Lucian characterizes him, it will be useful to first

consider briefly Menippus independent of Lucian‘s writings. This is admittedly a difficult

task because so little is known about this third-century figure, and despite modern

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curiosity, the surviving ancient sources do not appear to be particularly concerned or

familiar with him.6 The main source for Menippus‘ life is Diogenes Laertius‘ brief

biography, which records that Menippus was born a slave but eventually acquired great

wealth and Corinthian citizenship, only to lose all of his money and hang himself (6.99-

101). According to Diogenes, Menippus was a Cynic (θπληθόο), whose writings

contained nothing serious (θέξεη κὲλ νὖλ ζπνπδαῖνλ νὐδέλ) but were full of laughter

(6.99). In addition to a bit of biographical information, he provides a list of writings

attributed to Menippus, none of which survive. Included within this list are, among other

things, a Νέθπηα or voyage to the underworld, and treatises against natural philosophers,

mathematicians, and grammarians (Πξὸο ηνὺο θπζηθνὺο θαὶ καζεκαηηθνὺο θαὶ

γξακκαηηθνὺ, 101). 7

As Relihan has noted, Diogenes‘ portrayal of Menippus calls into

question his value as a philosopher and reveals a general hostility towards him.8 Yet

Diogenes‘ biography nonetheless remains interesting for our discussion since it highlights

the fact that Menippus was known for his biting laughter and attacks on philosophers, not

unlike the image Lucian presents of himself.

As Diogenes‘ biography reveals, however, it is difficult to separate the man from

his method and it is therefore impossible to consider Menippus without taking into

6 Relihan (1993:40).

7 Besides the Νέθπηα and treatises against the natural philosopher, Diogenes Laertius also lists the

following works: Wills (Diaqh=kai), a collection of letters imagined to be from the god‘s presence

(`Epistolai\ kekomyeume/nai a0po\ tw~n qew=n posw/pou), a text on the family of Epicurus (Gona\j 0Epikou/rou), and a text on the observance of the twentieth day by the philosophers of his own school, (ta\j qrhskeuome/naj u9p‘ au0tw=n ei0ka/daj, 101). In addition to these works, Diogenes Laertius also refers to a

―Sale of Diogenes,‖ in his life of Diogenes, see VI.29. Relihan cites the absence of this text from the life of

Menippus as evidence of the untrustworthiness and hostility of Diogenes‘ biography. While Relihan‘s

distrust of this account of Menippus is certainly valid, Diogenes‘ conclusion of the list of works with kai\ a1lla (and others) indicates that he does not intend this list to be exhaustive, (VI.101). See Relihan (1993)

for a discussion of the problems inherent in Diogenes‘ account of Menippus, (43-44). 8 See Relihan (1993: 39-47) and Weinbrot (2005: 24-31).

169

account the genre that he is believed to have inspired: Menippean Satire. This generic

label, however, is not one that we find in antiquity but a modern invention.9 Since none

of Menippus‘ own writings survive, scholars have attempted to define the genre based on

texts that they believe to be later examples of it, including the surviving fragments of

Varro‘s Menippeans, Seneca‘s Apocolocyntosis, and the texts under discussion here.

From these writings, Relihan has concluded that Menippean satire possesses four core

features: a mixture of prose and poetry that are the author‘s own composition (as opposed

to quotations drawn from other poets), a fantastical narrative, the burlesque of serious

language and literature, and jokes at the expense of learning.10

Besides these central

elements, Relihan also notes that Menippean satire is typically a first person narration

that is indebted to the Odyssey for its theme of travel, Old Comedy for its fantasy, and

Plato‘s use of myth, in particular that of Er from the Republic for its theme of death as the

great equalizer.11

From this brief discussion of the figure of Menippus outside of Lucian‘s writings

and the modern reconstruction of his eponymous genre, I have attempted to show the

problems inherent in trying to define precisely Lucian‘s debt to Menippus. Since Lucian

remains one of the main sources for this figure about whom so little is known, it is

difficult to determine to what extent Lucian is drawing on Menippus‘ reputation in

antiquity and how much his works are in fact contributing to our presumptions about that

9 See Relihan (1993:12) and Weinbrot (2005:1-16).

10 See Relihan (1993:18-25).

11 Relihan distinguishes the fantasy of Old Comedy from that of Menippean satire by classifying that of the

later as destructive (1993:25-31). I am inclined to disagree with Relihan about this because I think the

fantasy at the end of such plays as the Acharnians and the Frogs is not what we would consider

―constructive.‖

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reputation. Combined with this is the fact that many of the sources that Relihan regards

as contributing to Menippean satire, specifically Homer, Plato, and Old Comedy, can be

found elsewhere in Lucian‘s corpus, apart from Menippus.12

This begs the perhaps

unanswerable question of how we determine when these represent Lucian‘s debt to

Menippus and when they are references simply to the original sources themselves?

Lucian himself likewise explores his relationship to Menippus by presenting

Menippus as a figure who, on the surface, appears to embody a comedic-philosophical

approach. The apparent similarities between Lucian and Menippus have led some

scholars to interpret Menippus as a mouthpiece for Lucian or as a Lucianic mask akin to

the Syrian or Parrhesiades.13

Branham, for example, equates Menippus with the authorial

persona of Lycinus, to whom we will turn at the end of this chapter, contending that he

represents the very embodiment of Lucian‘s seriocomic project and an important

connection between Lucian, the Cynic tradition, and ultimately Plato‘s Socrates.14

In

contrast to Branham, Relihan has suggested that Menippus‘ presence as a character

within a dialogue means that we should not read him as a mask for Lucian, but rather as a

representative of an ―abstraction of Cynicism.‖15

While Relihan‘s interpretation of

Menippus as a character allows for a more nuanced reading than Branham‘s, he still

treats Lucian‘s ―Menippean‖ dialogues as evidence for a larger tradition. As a result of

this type of reading, the various literary resonances found in these texts have been

12

An example of this is the True Histories, in which we find Lucian drawing on all three of these sources in

their own right. 13

Perhaps the best example of this is Helms‘ Lucian und Menipp (1906), in which he argues that Lucian

essentially plagiarized Menippus. Helms‘ arguments have now summarily discounted. For a rebuttal of

Helm, see McCarthy (1934). 14

Branham (1989: 14-28). 15

Relihan (1993:104).

171

regarded as indicative of Menippean influence rather than as interesting in their own

right.

This is particularly the case in terms of the debt of Menippus‘ tales to the Frogs

and Peace. Although Lucian‘s reliance on these plays has long been noted, scholars have

tended to include Lucian‘s imitation of Aristophanes under the larger umbrella of

Menippean satire. Branham, for example, highlights the differences between the

Aristophanic original and Lucian‘s adaptations as evidence of Lucian‘s debt to

Menippus.16

For Branham, the main distinguishing feature lies in the end result of

Aristophanes‘ and Lucian‘s Menippean fantasies: whereas Aristophanes‘ plays typically

involve a ―triumphant inversion of reality‖ that results in ―order restored,‖ Menippus‘

journeys offer no such resolution at their conclusion.17

This emphasis on the different

results of Lucian‘s and Aristophanes‘ fantasies, however, excludes Lucian‘s application

of these comic scenarios, whose very selection may be filtered through the historical

figure of Menippus, to shape his representation of the Cynic. In contrast to Branham‘s

discussion, I will focus on how Lucian‘s simultaneous use of scenarios borrowed from

Old Comedy and the dialogue format controls at the outset of these texts our view of

Menippus as a character and foil for Lucian‘s own project. In the previous chapter, we

saw how Lucian‘s characterization of Diogenes and the other dead philosophers of the

Fisherman as members of a comic chorus undermined the types of tradition-centered

approaches that they represent. Similarly, the resonances between Menippus‘ tales and

16

Branham (1989: 17). 17

Branham (1989:16-17).

172

Aristophanes‘ plays cast Menippus as a comic character, thus forcing us to question his

value as a model for Lucian.

Lucian presents Menippus as a figure so frustrated with the internal and external

wrangling of the philosophical school that he appeals to fantasy. Though Menippus

travels in different directions in the Menippus and the Icaromenippus, both texts begin in

the same way: Menippus has just returned from his trip and encounters an unnamed

friend, who questions him about that journey. The tales related by Menippus are indebted

to Aristophanes‘ Frogs and Peace respectively and, as I will suggest, effectively cast

Menippus in the role of the comic figures, Dionysus and Trygaeus. In his portrayal of

Menippus, however, Lucian does not simply depict the voyage as it occurred, but instead

has Menippus recount his trips after the fact to his interlocutor. The dialogue format thus

draws our focus to Menippus as the narrator of these tales as much as to the tales

themselves. In the context of this dialogue, the interlocutor as Menippus‘ audience plays

a role analogous to our own and his reactions, which are generally characterized by

skepticism and annoyance, can influence our own. Through this presentation of comic

references in the context of a dialogue, I will contend that Lucian distances himself from

the comedic-philosophical paradigm offered by Menippus and more specifically the

solution that he offers to the frustration provoked by the philosophical schools: comic

escapism.

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The Menippus

In the Menippus, we find a Menippus concerned with a problem familiar from the second

and third books of Plato‘s Republic; the poets' portrayal of gods committing what would

be considered unlawful acts in human society.18

For Menippus, this discrepancy between

the poets‘ tales and real life has left him confused as to what type of life is best. Whereas

Socrates‘ response in the Republic was to censor the poets, Menippus determines that

philosophy, with the various answers that it offers, fails to deal satisfactorily with this

problem. As a result, he turns to a Chaldean, who promises to take him to the underworld

where he can consult Tiresias. Once in the underworld, Menippus witnesses how death is

the great equalizer and eventually stumbles upon Tiresias, who informs Menippus that

the simple life is best and ironically commands him to stop speculating about the heavens

(κεηεσξνινγεῖλ), ends (ηέιε), and beginnings (ἀξρὰο, 21). While this tale draws as

much of inspiration from Odysseus‘ own katabasis as Plato‘s ―Myth of Er,‖ I will focus

on how the opening of this dialogue recalls Aristophanes‘ comic recasting of this epic

trope in the Frogs.19

As I will suggest, the resonances between Menippus‘ mock heroic

journey and that portrayed in the Frogs effectively undermine Menippus as a serious

figure and force us to reevaluate Lucian‘s relationship to him

In its humorous recasting of the epic katabasis, Menippus‘ tale recalls

Aristophanes‘ comic take on this trope in the Frogs. Besides the similarities between

Menippus‘ journey and that of Dionysus, Lucian signals his debt to the Aristophanic play

18

See Plato, Republic 376e-408c. 19

On Platonic myth, in particular the ―Myth of Er,‖ as a subtext for ―Menippean‖ satire, see Relihan (1993:

33).

174

in his initial presentation of Menippus. As the dialogue commences, the Cynic appears

dressed in Odysseus‘ felt hat, Heracles‘ lion skin, and carrying Orpheus‘ lyre. Menippus

here has assumed the garb of three figures united by their visit and return from the

underworld yet is himself a philosophical figure known for his laughter. In addition to

invoking these heroes, Menippus‘ heroic garb also recalls the opening of the Frogs and

specifically Dionysus‘ Herculean costume. To briefly summarize the opening of

Aristophanes‘ play, Dionysus and Xanthias are on their way to Heracles‘ house where

they hope to discover an easy way to get into the underworld. By casting Dionysus as the

one who must go down to the underworld to bring back Euripides, Aristophanes plays

with Dionysus‘ reputation as someone who cheated death and was twice-born.20

Although much of the humor of this opening scene is found in Dionysus‘

gastrointestinal problems, Aristophanes draws on Dionysus‘ effeminacy by presenting

him as a mock-heroic figure, wearing the accoutrements of Heracles over his yellow

dress (θξνθσηόο, 46). The incongruity of this image is highlighted by Heracles‘ reaction

to seeing the womanly Dionysus dressed in his lion skin:

Ἀιι‘ νὐρ νἷόο η‘ εἴκ‘ ἀπνζνβῆζαη ηὸλ γέισλ ὁξλ ιενληῆλ ἐπὶ θξνθσηῶ θεηκέλελ. Τίο ὁ λνῦο; Τί θόζνξλνο θαὶ ῥόπαινλ μπλειζέηελ;

Sorry, friend, I couldn‘t help it. A lion-skin over a yellow negligee!

What‘s going on? Why the high-heel boots? Why the club? (Frogs 45-7)

20

See Hesiod, Theogony 940ff., Homeric Hymn 1 and 26, Euripides Bacchae 1ff, 90 ff, 245 ff, 285 ff, and

520 ff, Pseudo-Apollodorus, Bibliotheca 3.26-9, and Diodorus Siculus, Bibliotecha Historica 4.2.3.

Moreover, depending on when the Bacchae was preformed, Aristophanes‘ choice of Dionysus may also

reflect the central role that Dionysus assumes in that play.

175

As Dover describes the comic figure of Dionysus, he is ―boastful but cowardly,

incompetent, fat and out of condition, sensual, but highly susceptible to the charm of the

stage.‖21

Heracles‘ laughter thus invites our own as we imagine an actor playing a

ridiculous and effeminate Dionysus pretending to be the hyper-masculine Heracles.22

Aristophanes casts Dionysus as a buffoon, and it is into this mold that Lucian

inserts Menippus. At the opening of the dialogue, the interlocutor questions Menippus‘

appearance: ηί νὖλ αὐηῶ βνύιεηαη ηὸ ἀιιόθνηνλ ηνῦ ζρήκαηνο, πῖινο θαὶ ιύξα

θαὶ ιενληῆ; (What is the meaning of his strange costume, a felt hat, lyre, and lion skin?

1). Although Menippus does not immediately respond to this question, he later reveals

that his Chaldean guide dressed him in this way with the hope that he would be mistaken

for the previous visitors to the underworld, namely Odysseus, Heracles, and Orpheus:

αὐηὸο κὲλ νὖλ καγηθήλ ηηλα ἐλέδπ ζηνιὴλ ηὰ πνιιὰ ἐνηθπῖαλ ηῇ Μεδηθῇ,

ἐκὲ δὲ ηνπηνηζὶ θέξσλ ἐλεζθεύαζε, ηῶ πίιῳ θαὶ ηῇ ιενληῇ θαὶ πξνζέηη ηῇ

ιύξᾳ, θαὶ παξεθειεύζαην, ἤλ ηηο ἔξεηαί κε ηνὔλνκα, Μέληππνλ κὴ

ιέγεηλ, Ἡξαθιέα δὲ ἢ δπζζέα ἢ ξθέα… ἐπεὶ γὰξ νὗηνη πξὸ ἡκλ

δληεο εἰο Ἅηδνπ θαηειειύζεζαλ, ἡγεῖην, εἴ κε ἀπεηθάζεηελ αὐηνῖο,

ῥᾳδίσο ἂλ ηὴλ ηνῦ Αἰαθνῦ θξνπξὰλ δηαιαζεῖλ θαὶ ἀθσιύησο ἂλ

παξειζεῖλ ἅηε ζπλεζέζηεξνλ, ηξαγηθο κάια παξαπεκπόκελνλ ὑπὸ ηνῦ

ζρήκαηνο

And then he put on a magician‘s gown very like the Median dress, and

quickly dressed me in these things: the felt cap, lion skin, and a lyre

besides, and he urged me, if anyone asked me my name, not to say

Menippus, but Heracles or Odysseus or Orpheus…Since these guys lived

before us and had gone down to Hades, he [Menippus‘ guide] believed

that if he made me look like them, I might easily slip by the guard of

21

As Dover (1997) notes, the image of Dionysus in disguise is not unique to Aristophanes‘ play. In the

Dionysalxaxandros of Cratinus, Dionysus disguises himself as Paris so as to trick Hera, Athena, and

Aphrodite and get hold of Helen. In the Taxiarchs of Eupolis, Dionysus was apparently taught by

Phormion to be a soldier and sailor, (23). 22

Dover (1997: 22-24).

176

Aeacus and go unhindered, for thanks to my costume they would speed

me along on my journey. (Men. 8)

Like Aristophanes‘ Dionysus, Menippus dons mock heroic garb believing that it will

make it easier for him to get into the underworld. For Branham, the humor of Menippus‘

costume lies in the very fact that he is wearing such clothing.23

Yet, it is my contention

that the humor derives not only from the incongruity of finding Menippus wearing the

trappings of Odysseus, Heracles, and Orpheus, but also from the fact that Lucian has

taken his comic model of the Frogs to the extreme, dressing Menippus up not as one hero

but four, if we include his imitation of Dionysus.

Besides Menippus‘ mock heroic garb, Lucian connects his character to Dionysus

through his initial passion for speaking in the language of tragedy. In the context of

Aristophanes‘ play, part of the ridiculousness of Dionysus‘ character can be found in the

fact that, though he proclaims to be Euripides‘ greatest fan, his attempts at quoting the

poet fall short. As he describes to Heracles how the living tragic poets fail to meet the

standard set by Euripides, he slips into tragic language. To cite just one example,

Dionysus asserts that no contemporary poet would offer anything akin to the following

phrase:

Ὡδὶ γόληκνλ, ὅζηηο θζέγμεηαη

ηνηνπηνλί ηη παξαθεθηλδπλεπκέλνλ,

«αἰζέξα Δηὸο δσκάηηνλ,» ἢ «ρξόλνπ πόδα,»

ἢ «θξέλα κὲλ νὐθ ἐζέινπζαλ ὀκόζαη θαζ‘ ἱεξλ,

γιηηαλ δ‘ ἐπηνξθήζαζαλ ἰδίᾳ ηῆο θξελόο.»

23

Branham (1989: 19).

177

One who can produce something truly original, like ―The airy hall of

Zeus‖, or ―the tread of time,‖ or ―heart that would not swear by all that's

holy‖ and ―tongue that swears, without consent of mind.‖ (98-102)

While Dionysus attempts to quote Euripides here, his language in fact reveals his

inability to accurately remember Euripides‘ lines.24

His errors appear in his use of the

word δσκάηηνλ, which according to Dover occurs nowhere in extant Tragedy, and in his

mis-paraphrasing of a famous line from the Hippolytus, (ἡ γιζζ‘ ὀκώκνρ‘, ἡ δὲ θξὴλ

ἀλώκνηνο, Hippolytus 612).25

In contrast, ρξόλνπ πόδα may be a direct quotation of

Bacchae 888 and was originally spoken by the chorus directly following the scene in

which Dionysus tricks Pentheus into dressing like a woman. If we accept Dover‘s

presumption that Aristophanes was familiar with the Bacchae, then we can see

Aristophanes using the context of this quotation to reflect on his own portrayal of

Dionysus.26

In this case, the joke may work on several levels: for those who recognize

the allusion, Dionysus appears to be either misremembering the words of his favorite poet

or succeeding at playing with them, while for those who do not, he once again uses

language that appears tragic but is not an accurate quotation.

As a figure who will purportedly return tragedy to its former glories by going on a

heroic quest, Dionysus is comically undermined by his inability to recall the very poet

that he holds in such esteem. In Lucian‘s Menippus, we likewise find in Menippus a

figure crazy for the poets, especially Euripides. Unlike Dionysus who misremembers

24

As Dover notes, αἰζέξα Δηὸο δσκάηηνλ may recall E. fr. 487 (Melanippe), ρξόλνπ πόδα E. Ba. 888, and

101f . E. Hp. 612 (1997:106). 25

Dover (1997: 106). 26

Even if we reject this assumption, Dover notes that we find a similar sentiment expressed in Alexandros

fr. 42 (θαὶ ρξόλνπ πξνύβαηλε πνύο).

178

Euripides‘ words, Menippus accurately quotes him and the humor of Lucian‘s scene

arises from Menippus‘ initial refusal, much to his interlocutor‘s annoyance, to speak in

anything but the language of tragedy. In fact, Menippus‘ first lines, which open the text,

are drawn from Euripides‘ Hercules: Ὦ ραῖξε κέιαζξνλ πξόππιά ζ‘ ἑζηίαο ἐκῆο, /

ὡο ἄζκελόο ζ‘ ἐζεῖδνλ ἐο θάνο κνιώλ. (Greetings my house and hearth, how glad I am to

see you now that I have returned to the light, 1).27

Unlike Dionysus, who at times

misquotes Euripides, these lines are in fact a direct quotation of lines spoken by Heracles

upon returning from the underworld (523-4). Combined with Menippus‘ costume, they

further reinforce the heroic and specifically Herculean image that he has adopted for

himself, revealing that he has not only adopted Heracles‘ lion skin but his language as

well.

Menippus‘ preference for tragedy continues throughout the opening scene of this

dialogue to the point that he initially refuses to speak in anything but tragic language.

For example, as his companion attempts to question him about his journey and strange

appearance, Menippus responds once again with several lines from Euripides, this time

from the Hecuba: Ἥθσ λεθξλ θεπζκλα θαὶ ζθόηνπ πύιαο / ιηπώλ, ἵλ‘ Ἅηδεο ρσξὶο

ᾤθηζηαη ζελ. (I have come from the dead‘s lair and I have left behind the gates of

darkness where Hades dwells apart from the gods, 2). Whereas in the initial quotation we

found Menippus speaking in language that corresponded to his costume, these lines were

originally spoken by the treacherously murdered Polydorus at the opening of the play.

Menippus has gone from adopting the language of Heracles to that of Priam‘s son and,

27

For a discussion of the presence of poetic quotations in Menippean satire, see Relihan (1993: 17-21).

179

although there exists a clever logic in a recent visitor to Hades speaking these lines, his

shift from heroic language to that of a ghost contributes to the humor of this opening

scene.

As Menippus initially appears in this dialogue, he is a figure who has comically

adopted heroic attire and tragic language in a manner akin to Dionysus in the Frogs.

Lucian guides our response to this image of Menippus through his interlocutor‘s reactions

and within the mock-tragic tone of the opening, the interlocutor assumes a role similar to

that of a chorus. After tolerating several tragic quotations, the interlocutor asks

Menippus to stop pretending that he is in play: παῦζαη, καθάξηε, ηξαγῳδλ θαὶ ιέγε

νὑησζί πσο ἁπιο θαηαβὰο ἀπὸ ηλ ἰακβείσλ, ηίο ἡ ζηνιή; ηί ζνη ηῆο θάησ

πνξείαο ἐδέεζελ; (Stop, my good man, acting like a tragic figure and come off your

blank-verse, tell me in plain language like mine what your costume is, and why you had

to go down below, 1). His use of the participle ηξαγῳδλ signals the mock theatricality

of Menippus‘ initial appearance, while the annoyance he expresses suggests that it is

incompatible with the dialogue he hopes to have with Menippus. Moreover, his

repetition of the preposition θαηά in the participle θαηαβάο and θάησ creates a pun on the

tale Menippus is about to tell, thus mocking Menippus and calling into question his value

as a philosophical figure.

Unlike Aristophanes‘ Dionysus, who stands outside of tragedy by reading it and

judging it, Menippus here appears to believe that he is in some way tragic or part of a

tragedy. This image is reinforced when he refuses to heed his companion but continues

to speak as if he were a Euripidean character, an act which sparks his companion to

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exclaim: Οὗηνο, ἀιι‘ ἦ παξαπαίεηο· νὐ γὰξ ἂλ νὕησο ἐκκέηξσο ἐξξαςῴδεηο πξὸο

ἄλδξαο θίινπο. (Man, you are surely crazy or you would not recite in meter to your

friends, 1). In this response to Menippus, the interlocutor likens the Cynic to a rhapsode

(ἐξξαςῴδεηο), a characterization which serves to cast Menippus not as a poet but rather

as someone who merely recites poetry. By likening Menippus‘ tragic set-up for his tale

to a poetic recitation that is not of his own creation, the interlocutor here undermines

Menippus‘ claim to knowledge, painting him instead as a mere performer. This

characterization ironically reflects the central question that has driven Menippus‘

journey: how do we interpret the poets? Here at the opening of the dialogue, Menippus

appears as a comic rhapsode-like figure, a characterization which casts a shadow over the

tale he is about to relate.

As we have seen thus far, the opening of the Menippus mimics Aristophanes‘

Frogs not just in Menippus‘ voyage to the underworld but his adoption of heroic and

tragic language. In addition to noticing the comic resonances within this text, it is also

important to note how Lucian diverges from his comic model. One obvious difference

lies in the purposes behind the respective voyages. In casting Menippus in the role of

Dionysus, Lucian mimics Dionysus‘ original dislike of contemporary tragedy with

Menippus‘ dissatisfaction with philosophers and Dionysus‘ desire to return Euripides to

the living with Menippus‘ quest to find Tiresias. This shift from a literary focus to a more

philosophical one belies one aspect of Lucian‘s melding of comedy and philosophy

within this text.

181

Ultimately, however, Lucian‘s union of comedy and philosophy emerges from

Menippus‘ appearance as a rhapsodic figure within the larger context of a dialogue, and

this represents Lucian‘s main divergence from the Aristophanic model of Menippus‘

Νέθπηα. In Aristophanes‘ play, we begin just as Dionysus embarks on his quest and we

witness the sequence of events as they happen, culminating in the contest between

Aeschylus and Euripides. Compared with the Frogs, the Menippus takes the opposite

approach: opening not at the beginning of Menippus‘ travels, but at the end. Moreover,

we do not witness the events as they happen but rather learn of them as Menippus relates

them to his interlocutor. In diverging from the Aristophanic model, Lucian draws our

focus first to the figure of Menippus and then to his tale. The result of this is that the

dialogue explores not the problem that sparked Menippus‘ journey, namely a

dissatisfaction with philosophers, but rather Menippus as a philosophical model for

Lucian. Although the dialogue drops off as soon as Menippus commences his tale, its

function at the opening of the text is to cast Menippus as a comic figure in the mold of

Aristophanes‘ Dionysus, thus undermining both the seriousness with which he relates his

journey and his philosophical approach. We therefpre find in Menippus‘ tale the derisive

laughter noted by Relihan, yet his role as a comic figure means that while Menippus is

laughing at philosophers and the dead, we are laughing at him.

Our interpretation of Menippus‘ tale is therefore very much affected by how, as

we have seen in our discussion of the opening dialogue, Menippus comes to be

characterized through his attire, his language, and the reactions he inspires in his

companion as a comic buffoon. In other words, dialogue is the tool by which Lucian

182

casts Menippus as a comic character, a characterization which calls into question his

value as a philosophical figure. In the context of his tale, Menippus describes to the

interlocutor his entrance into the underworld and the figures he saw undergoing judgment

there. Although he witnesses the shades of both historical and mythical figures,

throughout most of his journey he seems to have forgotten the questions that inspired it:

how do we interpret the poets and what is the best way to live life? It is not, however,

until the end of Menippus‘ tale and his encounter with Tiresias that he returns to his

original purpose. Upon encountering Tiresias, his confusion regarding the poets is left by

the wayside as he attempts to discover what is the best life (21). Though Tiresias initially

tries to evade Menippus‘ question, he eventually reveals the best life to be that of a

common people (ἰδησηλ), and he commands Menippus to stop concerning himself with

philosophical questions (21). As the conclusion of this dialogue, Tiresias‘ answer is not a

novel one, but is reminiscent of Odysseus‘ choice of a simple in life in the ―Myth of

Er.‖28

Menippus has rejected philosophy, but ironically has been given an answer

familiar from it. Moreover, Tiresias‘ command to Menippus to stop concerning himself

with philosophical questions further reinforces Lucian‘s characterization of Menippus at

the start of the text as a comical figure whose attempts at seriousness prove ridiculous.

In our discussion thus far we have seen how Lucian uses the dialogue of the

Menippus to render Menippus in the mold of Dionysus from the Frogs, a characterization

that calls into question the merits of his tale. We find Lucian achieving a similar effect in

the Icaromenippus, this time through the adoption of the Peace as his model as well as

28

See Plato, Republic 620c-d.

183

language that recalls Socrates‘ Thinkery in the Clouds. Unlike the Menippus, however,

Menippus‘ interlocutor in this dialogue plays a more prevalent role by consistently

calling into question the tale that Menippus is relating to him. In examining the

Icaromenippus, I will begin by considering the relationship between Lucian‘s text and its

Aristophanic model, the Peace. As I will argue, the differences between Lucian‘s text and

its comic predecessor reveal how Menippus‘ journey fails to achieve its purpose of

philosophical enlightenment. Lucian continually emphasizes this point through the

interlocutor‘s consistent questioning of Menippus‘ tale. Like the Menippus of the

Menippus, this Menippus once again appears as a comic figure, only this time, he fails in

his purpose. This is an important distinction since it is in this text that we will see more

clearly how Lucian uses the end result of Menippus‘ journey to distinguish himself from

his Cynic predecessor.

The Icaromenippus

In the Icaromenippus, we once again find a dialogue between Menippus and an unnamed

interlocutor, in which the former narrates how his dissatisfaction with competing

philosophical views about the universe inspired a recent journey to the heavens. As

Menippus relates to his incredulous friend, he achieved this feat by fastening to his arms

the wings of an eagle and a vulture and then jumping off the Acropolis. Once airborne,

he flew first to the Moon, where he encountered not only a charred version of

Empedocles, but also spoke with the Moon herself about the slander that philosophers

spread about her. Menippus promises to carry the Moon‘s complaints to Zeus on Mt.

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Olympus, where he is received as a guest and allowed to witness Zeus‘ answering of

prayers and the assembly of the gods convened to discuss the Moon‘s complaints.

According to Menippus, the assembly results in a promise from Zeus that he will smite

all the philosophers in the following spring, and the dialogue concludes with Menippus

declaring that he is going to gleefully proclaim this fact at the Painted Stoa (e0n th|=

Poiki/lh|, 34).

In his analysis of the plot structure found within this dialogue, Relihan has

suggested that Menippus‘ decision to seek the solution to his problems in the heavens

represents Lucian‘s ―reworking‖ of Menippus‘ traditional journey to the underworld that

is itself indebted to Aristophanes‘ Peace and Birds.29

While the connection to the Birds

stems largely from Menippus‘ use of birds‘ wings to bring about his journey, in the Peace

Aristophanes presents Trygaeus‘ journey on the back of a dung beetle to Olympus to

return the goddess Peace to the world and thus bring about the end of the Peloponnesian

War. If we read the Icaromenippus in tandem with the Peace, as I believe that Lucian

intends us, then we once again find Menippus assuming a comic role, this time that of

Trygaeus. Just as in the Menippus, Lucian replaces Trygaeus‘ original quest to end the

war with Menippus‘ more philosophical concerns regarding a desire to learn the true

nature of the universe. Menippus therefore plays the role of Trygaeus, who seeks not to

resolve a martial conflict, but a philosophical one.

Whereas in the Menippus we saw that Menippus‘ adoption of a heroic costume

for his journey to the underworld leads to an association with Dionysus from the Frogs,

29

See Relihan (1993:104). For a discussion of the Aristophanic connections, see Anderson (1980: 159),

Branham (1989: 16), and Relihan (1993: 32).

185

in the Icaromenippus Lucian characterizes Menippus chiefly through his interlocutors‘

reaction to him. At the opening of this text, Menippus appears lost in thought as he

attempts to calculate the exact distance he has just traveled. In response to this image,

Menippus‘ interlocutor employs language, which evokes images of Socrates‘ Thinkery

and Socrates‘ account of Thales in the Theaetetus:

ηί ηαῦηα πξὸο Χαξίησλ, ὦ Μέληππε, ἀζηξνλνκεῖο θαὶ ἡζπρῇ πσο

ἀλακεηξεῖο; πάιαη γὰξ ἐπαθξνκαί ζνπ παξαθνινπζλ ἡιίνπο θαὶ

ζειήλαο, ἔηη δὲ ηὰ θνξηηθὰ ηαῦηα ζηαζκνύο ηηλαο θαὶ παξαζάγγαο ὑπνμελί

δνληνο.

Why, by the Graces, Menippus are you studying astronomy and in some

way silently measuring again? For a long time, I have been following you

and listening to you talk strangely about the suns, moons, and even those

tiresome topics, namely stages and leagues. (Icar. 1)

Used in conjunction with one another, ἀζηξνλνκεῖο and ἀλακεηξεῖο allude to a passage

found in the Clouds in which Strepsiades asks one of Socrates‘ students why another

student has his backside in the air. In response to Strepsiades‘ question, the student

provides the following response: αὐηὸο θαζ‘ αὑηὸλ ἀζηξνλνκεῖλ δηδάζθεηαη. (It is being

taught to do astronomy on its own, Clouds 194). Amazed by this answer, Strepsiades

continues to question the student about the various instruments in the school, one of

which is used to measure land (γῆλ ἀλακεηξεῖζζαη, 203).30

As we saw in the Menippus,

Lucian uses the dialogue in order to characterize Menippus. The interlocutor‘s question

found here at the opening of the Icaromenippus consequently invokes language

reminiscent of the Clouds and compares Menippus‘ actions to those of Socrates‘ students.

30

Camerotto (2009: 97).

186

Although Lucian borrows the general scenario of Menippus‘ journey from the Peace,

Lucian turns to the Clouds to undermine Menippus‘ philosophical role.

In addition to the Clouds, Lucian‘s use of ἀζηξνλνκεῖο in reference to Menippus

similarly echoes the anecdote about Thales falling into a well told by Socrates in Plato‘s

Theaetetus. This tale is found within the larger context of a discussion about how

philosophers typically disdain the affairs of the city and focus instead on questions that

concern things below and above the earth: ἀηηκάζαζα παληαρῇ πέηεηαη θαηὰ

Πίλδαξνλ ―ηο ηε γο ὑπέλεξζε‖ θαὶ ηὰ ἐπίπεδα γεσκεηξνῦζα, ―νὐξαλνῦ ζ‘ ὕπεξ‖ ἀζηξν

λνκνῦζα, (―he [the philosopher] deems these things unworthy and he flies every which

way in the words of Pindar ―below the earth,‖ measuring its surface, and ―above heaven,‖

doing astronomy,‖ Theaetetus 173c).31

Socrates‘ description of a philosopher is further

reinforced by his account of how Thales was so busy studying the stars (ἀζηξνλνκνῦληα)

that he fell into a well, provoking the laughter of a Thracian girl, who demanded to know

why he was so curious about the stars when he could not even see what was in front of

him on the ground, (ιέγεηαη ὡο ηὰ κὲλ ἐλ νὐξαλῶ πξνζπκνῖην εἰδέλαη, ηὰ δ‘ ἔκπξνζζελ

αὐηνῦ θαὶ παξὰ πόδαο ιαλζάλνη αὐηόλ, 174a). As Socrates concludes his tale, he notes

that the same joke applies to all philosophers, (ηαὐηὸλ δὲ ἀξθεῖ ζθκκα ἐπὶ πάληαο

ὅζνη ἐλ θηινζνθίᾳ δηάγνπζη, 174a-b). In the context of Lucian‘s text, the interlocutor‘s

question casts Menippus in the double role of one of Socrates‘ students in the Clouds and

of Thales. Like the Thracian slave girl, the interlocutor mocks Menippus for his

obsession with the heavens.

31

These are also among the charges that Socrates states were brought against him in the Apology18b-c.

187

Within this opening scene, Menippus appears as a ridiculous natural philosopher,

contemplating the stars and unaware of his companion, who has been watching him. In

the dialogue that ensues, the interlocutor maintains a skeptical attitude toward Menippus‘

journey, indicating that we as Lucian‘s readers should approach Menippus with the same

grain of salt. When, for example, Menippus acknowledges that his trip is in fact beyond

belief, (ηὸ πέξα πίζηεσο εὐηπρεῖλ), his companion offers the following response:

θαὶ πο ἂλ ἔγσγε, ὦ ζεζπέζηε θαὶ ιύκπηε Μέληππε, γελλεηὸο αὐηὸο θαὶ ἐ

πίγεηνο ὢλ ἀπηζηεῖλ δπλαίκελ ὑπεξλεθέιῳ ἀλδξὶ θαὶ ἵλα θαζ‘ Ὅκεξνλ εἴπ

σ ηλ Οὐξαληώλσλ ἑλί; ἀιι‘ ἐθεῖλά κνη θξάζνλ, εἰ δνθεῖ, ηίλα ηξόπνλ ἤξζ

εο ἄλσ θαὶ ὁπόζελ ἐπνξίζσ θιίκαθα ηειηθαύηελ ηὸ κέγεζνο; ηὰ κὲλ γὰξ

ἀκθὶ ηὴλ ὄςηλ νὐ πάλπ ἔνηθαο ἐθείλῳ ηῶ Φξπγί, ὥζηε ἡκο εἰθάδεηλ θαὶ

ζὲ νἰλνρνήζνληά πνπ ἀλάξπαζηνλ γεγνλέλαη πξὸο ηνῦ ἀεηνῦ.

How can I, divine and Olympian Menippus, myself a mortal and an

inhabitant of earth not believe a man who is above the clouds and, to use

the words of Homer, one of the celestial gods. But tell me please how you

were carried aloft and where you got such a long ladder, for as far as looks

are concerned, you look too little like that Phrygian boy for me to think

that like him, you were snatched up by an eagle and became a cupbearer.

(Icaro.2).

As this passage indicates, the interlocutor‘s reaction to Menippus is to make fun of him

by adopting mock-Homeric seriousness and by highlighting the fact that Menippus is no

Ganymede. In his analysis of Lucian‘s representation of Menippus, Relihan points to the

fact that, contrary to the connections drawn by Branham, Lucian does not portray

Menippus as a Socratic eiron.32

Relihan‘s evaluation of Menippus‘ character in this text

is significant because it begins to articulate the nature of his comic character, namely the

seriousness with which he regards his trip, a point highlighted by the interlocutor‘s

incredulous and mocking response. According to Aristotle, a Socratic eiron is a figure

32

Relihan (1993: 104).

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who claims not to possess qualities, which are generally highly esteemed, in the manner

of Socrates‘ disavowal of knowledge (NE 1127 b25). In contrast to this figure, the

alazon claims to know more than he in fact does.33

In Lucian‘s text, Menippus seeks to

resolve his frustration with the philosophical discussions of the universe by going to see

for himself, yet the fantastical nature of his journey combined with the interlocutor‘s

sarcastic remarks renders his tale unbelievable. The fact that Menippus will claim to

have acquired knowledge in such a way consequently indicates his character is more in

line with the model of the alazon. Although Menippus will seek to cast himself as

knowledgeable about such lofty topics, it is in fact the interlocutor with his incredulity

about Menippus‘ knowledge, who comes closer to a Socratic figure. Lucian thus presents

in this dialogue an inversion of what we find in Plato‘s dialogues. Whereas Plato

presents Socrates as often taking down his interlocutor‘s claims to knowledge, for

example Ion and Callicles, through irony, Lucian uses the irony of the interlocutor to

undermine Menippus‘ assertion that he has obtained knowledge about the universe.34

As we have seen so far, Lucian‘s opening dialogue, in particular the interlocutor‘s

responses, comically questions the seriousness with which Menippus treats his fantastical

journey. We find in fact several layers of comedy embedded in the opening sections of

this dialogue. Beginning with Menippus‘ tale, the act of resolving a problem by flying to

the heavens recalls the essential scenario of Aristophanes‘ Peace.35

As in the Menippus,

33

See also Theophrastus Characters I and XXIII. For a discussion of these character types, see Gooch

(1987: 95). 34

For a discussion of Socratic irony, see Vlastos (1991:21-44) and Clay (2000:93-100). 35

This connection has long been made by scholars and is reinforced, as Camerotto has shown, by multiple

verbal allusions found within Menippus‘ tale. See Camerotto (2009:107).

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Menippus‘ tale places him in the role of Trygaeus and consequently casts him as a

character from Old Comedy. As the interlocutor‘s comments reveal, however, Menippus

plays the part not only of Trygaeus, but also a ridiculous natural philosopher akin to one

of Socrates‘ students in the Clouds and to Thales in the Theaetetus. Lucian uses these

references to cast Menippus as a character from comedy and, in doing so, effectively

undermines Menippus as a philosophical figure.

In considering the connections between this text and Aristophanes‘ plays,

however, scholars such as Branham and Camerotto, draw a distinction between Lucian

and his model: Aristophanes‘ plays focus on ―topical complaints arising from actual

events,‖ such as the Peloponnesian War, while Menippus inhabits a ―timeless ‗classical

Athens,‘‖ and struggles with ―universal‖ issues.36

Lucian thus exchanges the ―political‖

war of the Peace for the philosophical ―wars‖ about cosmology and, in doing so, replaces

the presumably fictional Trygaeus with the shadowy, historical figure of Menippus.

Menippus is generally dated to the third century BCE, a philosophical period

characterized by the developments of the major schools, including the Stoics and

Epicureans.37

In exchanging Trygaeus‘ dissatisfaction with an actual war for Menippus‘

with philosophy, Lucian creates a scenario in which the comedy surrounding Menippus is

intended to address the issues of Menippus‘ own day. As I will argue, Lucian signals this

fact to us by including topographical references that have heretofore been ignored in

discussions of this text. While Branham is not wrong to note that the complaints that we

find Menippus voicing in this text appear elsewhere in Lucian‘s corpus, it is not that

36

See Branham (1989:15) and Camerotto (2009:14-24). 37

For a discussion of the rise of the different schools, see Long and Sedley (1987) and Long (2006:23-42).

190

Menippus inhabits a ―universal Athens,‖ but rather that Lucian has established him, the

problems of his day, and his approach to answering them as a foil for Lucian‘s own

project. This is a significant distinction because it allows us to see Lucian‘s ultimate

rejection of the model offered by Menippus and offers his own dialogues as a more

constructive approach.

As he relates his journey from the Acropolis to the moon, Menippus describes

how the high altitude of the moon made it initially difficult to recognize earth, and, were

it not for the Colossus of Rhodes and the Lighthouse of Pharos, he would not have

recognized earth at all (εἴ γε κὴ ηὸλ Ῥνδίσλ θνινζζὸλ ἐζεαζάκελ θαὶ ηὸλ ἐπὶ ηῇ Φάξῳ

πύξγνλ, εὖ ἴζζη, παληειο ἄλ κε ἡ γῆ δηέιαζε, Icaro. 12). Menippus‘ point here is that

these two wonders of the world were so large that he could see them even from heaven.

This topographical reference, however, is problematic for readings that regard the action

of this text as taking place within Lucian‘s own time, given the fact that, as Camerotto

notes, the Colossus, which was constructed ca. 283 BCE, only stood for 56 years.38

In an

attempt to explain this apparent discrepancy, Camerotto concludes that this reference

must be a holdover from a Menippean original.39

While this explanation is certainly

plausible, it is also possible that, within the context of this dialogue, Menippus‘ reference

to these wonders orients this dialogue in the third century BCE, and not in Branham‘s

―timeless Athens.‖ Although Lucian does not admittedly provide us with a clear

38

The Lighthouse was also constructed in the third century and it is believed to have been destroyed by

earthquakes in the twelfth century, see Camerotto (2009:120). 39

See Camerotto (2009:120).

191

dramatic date for this dialogue, he nonetheless establishes Menippus‘ journey as

occurring within the Hellenistic period.

Lucian continues to reinforce the Hellenistic setting of this dialogue in Menippus‘

description of what he saw from the Moon. Although the high altitude initially proves

problematic for Menippus, Empedocles suddenly appears and explains to Menippus that

he can use his eagle wing to see the events on earth more clearly. As Menippus describes

to his companion, the eagle‘s wing allowed him to witness the following things:

θαηαθύςαο γνῦλ ἐο ηὴλ γῆλ ἑώξσλ ζαθο ηὰο πόιεηο, ηνὺο ἀλζξώπνπο,

ηὰ γηγλόκελα,θαὶ νὐ ηὰ ἐλ ὑπαίζξῳ κόλνλ, ἀιιὰ θαὶ ὁπόζα νἴθνη ἔπξαηηνλ

νἰόκελνη ιαλζάλεηλ, Πηνιεκαῖνλ κὲλ ζπλόληα ηῇ ἀδειθῇ, Λπζηκάρῳ δὲ

ηὸλ πἱὸλ ἐπηβνπιεύνληα, ηὸλ Σειεύθνπ δὲ Ἀληίνρνλ Σηξαηνλίθῃ

δηαλεύνληα ιάζξα ηῇ κεηξπηᾶ, ηὸλ δὲ Θεηηαιὸλ Ἀιέμαλδξνλ ὑπὸ

ηῆο γπλαηθὸο ἀλαηξνύκελνλ θαὶ Ἀληίγνλνλ κνηρεύνληα ηνῦ πἱνῦ ηὴλ

γπλαῖθα θαὶ Ἀηηάιῳ ηὸλ πἱὸλ ἐγρένληα ηὸ θάξκαθνλ, ἑηέξσζη δ‘ αὖ

Ἀξζάθελ θνλεύνληα ηὸ γύλαηνλ θαὶ ηὸλ εὐλνῦρνλ Ἀξβάθελ ἕιθνληα

ηὸ μίθνο ἐπὶ ηὸλ Ἀξζάθελ, Σπαηῖλνο δὲ ὁ Μῆδνο ἐθ ηνῦ ζπκπνζίνπ

πξὸο ηλ δνξπθνξνύλησλ εἵιθεην ἔμσ ηνῦ πνδὸο ζθύθῳρξπζῶ ηὴλ

ὀθξὺλ θαηεινεκέλνο. ὅκνηα δὲ ηνύηνηο ἔλ ηε Ληβύῃ θαὶ παξὰ

Σθύζαηο θαὶ Θξᾳμὶ γηλόκελα ἐλ ηνῖο βαζηιείνηο ἦλ ὁξλ, κνηρεύνληαο,

θνλεύνληαο, ἐπηβνπιεύνληαο, ἁξπάδνληαο, ἐπηνξθνῦληαο, δεδηόηαο, ὑπὸ

ηλ νἰθεηνηάησλ πξνδηδνκέλνπο.

And so bending down to the earth I saw clearly the cities, the men, the

things that were happening and not only those done publicly, but those

done at home when they thought they would escape notice. I saw Ptolemy

the greater having sex with his sister, Lysimachus‘ son plotting, Seleucus‘

son Antigonus committing adultery with the wife of his son, the son of

Attalus pouring out the poison for him.40

In another quarter I saw Arsaces

killing the woman, the eunuch Arbaces drawing his sword on Arsaces, and

Spatinus the Mede in the hand of the guards, after having had his head

40

Lucian here presents references to various events occurring within the Hellenistic period, some more

datable than others. Although the reference to Ptolemy the great clearly points to Ptolemy II, who married

his sister Arsinoë perhaps in 285 BCE, it is less clear who Lysimachus‘ son is supposed to be given the

fact that Lysimachus (353-281) allowed himself to be swayed by his second wife, Arsinoë, into

imprisoning and having his son, Agathocles, murdered. See Lund (1992: 186-7). As Anderson has shown,

the reference to Arsaces represents Lucian‘s own version of the death of Sardanapalus. For a discussion of

Lucian‘s potential sources and the changes he makes to this tale, see Anderson (1976D: 59).

192

broken with a golden cup. Similar things were to be seen going on in

Libya and among the Thracians and Scythians in the palaces of king –men

committing adultery, murdering, conspiring, plundering, forswearing,

fearing and falling victims to the treason of their closest kin. (15)

The events described here by Menippus are not synchronous, yet they involve various

figures drawn from the Hellenistic period and serve to reinforce the fact that this dialogue

takes place at a time roughly contemporaneous with Menippus‘ life. If this dialogue is

set within the Hellenistic period, we must also reconsider Branham‘s ―universal‖ issues

of this text, namely Menippus‘ frustration with the quarrels between philosophers and

their inability to answer his questions regarding the universe. While we find Lucian

expressing similar frustration in other dialogues, the Hellenistic setting of this dialogue

points to the fact that these quarrels are long-standing. As a figure concerned with the

contradictory views espoused by philosophers, Menippus represents an important foil for

Lucian and his literary project. Yet in setting Menippus within the Hellenistic period,

Lucian creates a distance between himself and the protagonist of this dialogue that allows

him to compare Menippus‘ approach to resolving his philosophical frustrations with that

of his own.

Though Menippus‘ journey was initially inspired by a desire to learn about the

universe, this question is preempted by the problems of the Stoic, Epicurean, and Cynic

schools. As Menippus contemplates what he sees below him, the Moon suddenly begs

him to carry the following message to Zeus: philosophers are spreading lies about her.

Menippus‘ focus therefore shifts from discovering the true nature of the universe to

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reporting to Zeus the very frustration that sparked his journey.41

Once on Olympus,

Menippus relates this message to Zeus, who calls an assembly of the gods to discuss the

Moon‘s complaints the following day. Here it is decided that, while philosophers must

be eradicated, the gods will wait until the end of the festival season, a delay that perhaps

recalls the postponement of Socrates‘ execution (Phaedo 58a-c):

―Ἔζηαη ηαῦηα ὡο βνύιεζζε,‖ ἔθε, ―θαὶ πάληεο ἐπηηξίςνληαη αὐηῇ δηαιεθηη

θῇ, πιὴλ ηό γε λῦλ εἶλαη νὐ ζέκηο θνιαζζῆλαί ηηλα· ἱεξνκελία γάξ ἐζηηλ,

ὡο ἴζηε, κελλ ηνύησλ ηεηηάξσλ, θαὶ ἤδε ηὴλ ἐθερεηξίαλ

πεξηεγγεηιάκελ. ἐο λέσηα νὖλ ἀξρνκέλνπ ἦξνο θαθνὶ θαθο

ἀπνινῦληαη ηῶ ζκεξδαιέῳ θεξαπλῶ.‖

It shall be as you wish; they shall be annihilated and their dialectic with

them, except that right now it is not right to punish anyone, for it is the

festival-season, as you know, during the next four months, and I have

already sent about to announce a truce. Next year, therefore, at the

opening of the spring the wretches shall die a wretched death by the

horrible thunderbolt.‖ (Icaro.33)

Following this proclamation, Menippus relates how he was stripped of his wings and

returned to earth. His tale and consequently the dialogue conclude with Menippus‘

gleeful proclamation to his friend that he is going to the Cerameicus to relate this happy

news to the Peripatetic philosophers at the Painted Stoa (ἄπεηκη ηνίλπλ θαὶ ηνῖο ἐλ

ηῇ Πνηθίιῃ πεξηπαηνῦζη ηλ θηινζόθσλ αὐηὰ ηαῦηα εὐαγγειηνύκελνο, Icaro. 34).

It is important to remember, however, that this text is a dialogue in which, as we

have seen, Menippus appears as comic character. Lucian reminds us of this point here at

the end of dialogue by attributing to Menippus a basic lack of understanding regarding

the different philosophical schools. Within this final proclamation, the participle

41

In his discussion of this moment in the text, Relihan notes that Menippus has become ―dissociated‖ from

the original goal (1993:111).

194

πεξηπαηνῦζη recalls the philosophers of the Peripatetic school, who, as Menippus tells us,

are walking around the Painted Stoa, a place commonly associated with the Stoics.

Moreover, the Painted Stoa was located in the agora, not the Cerameicus, which was the

location of Plato‘s Academy. Menippus here appears to have conflated several schools,

and this final line has the effect of once again undermining how we interpret the tale of

this philosophical figure and its outcome.

Though it is delayed, the end result of Menippus‘ journey is the ensuing

destruction of philosophers, a result that suggests a certain nihilistic quality of Menippus‘

approach to philosophy. As a philosophic figure known for his use of laughter, Menippus

represents an important precedent for Lucian‘s own project, and Lucian acknowledges

this fact in the similarities between Menippus‘ dissatisfaction with philosophy and his

own. Yet the destructive outcome of Menippus‘ journey stands in contrast to the ways in

which Lucian regards the effects of his own union of comedy and philosophy in the

Literary Prometheus, Fisherman, and Twice Prosecuted. Although in the Fisherman

Lucian attempts to weed the fake philosophers from the true ones by fishing for

philosophers off the side of the Acropolis, he characterizes his use of comedy for

philosophic purposes as a largely revitalizing force. In the Literary Prometheus and

Twice Prosecuted, philosophical dialogue is painted as an obscure genre that is overly

focused on lofty forms, notably similar to questions that sparked Menippus‘ journey.

Similarly, in the Fisherman, Diogenes and the other dead philosophers are painted as out

of touch with the realities of philosophical corruption in Lucian‘s time. For Lucian,

Comedy represents the tool by which he will restore philosophy, yet in this dialogue we

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find Menippus happy at the very thought of its destruction. While there are certain core

similarities between Lucian and his Cynic foil, the end results prove quite different and

we can see Lucian here distancing himself from Menippus.

In this section, we have seen how Lucian questions Menippus‘ philosophical

merits by presenting us with the reverse of what we saw in the Fisherman: philosophers

are not presented in a comic scenario, but rather a figure known for his laughter is cast as

figure from Old Comedy and explored in the context of a dialogue. As I have argued,

although Lucian establishes Menippus as an important precedent for his own project, he

ultimately distances himself from him through his use of Old Comic references in a

dialogue format. In the next section we will see Lucian take a different approach to his

union of comedy and philosophy in the Parasite. Whereas in the texts discussed up to

this point Lucian has presented either historical philosophers, such as Plato, Diogenes,

and Menippus, or philosophical personifications, for example that of the Academy or

Dialogue, in a scenario indebted to Old Comedy, in the Parasite he depicts the typically

comic figure of the parasite within the framework of a dialogue, characterized by highly

Stoic language. As I will argue, Lucian uses this representation of a comic figure within

a dialogue to directly address one of the conflicts that sparked Menippus‘ journeys,

namely that of the Stoics and Epicureans and more broadly the very notion of ongoing

disagreements between philosophical schools. Through his recasting of a comic

character within a philosophical scenario, Lucian reveals both the ridiculousness of these

debates and how they represent one of the main sources for the philosophical corruption

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of his day. As opposed to Menippus‘ destructive tendencies, Lucian offers up his own

approach as a welcome alternative to these conflicts.

II. A Comic Character as Philosopher: the Parasite

The Menippus and Icaromenippus, as I have argued, are dialogues that cast the Cynic

Menippus as a comic character within the larger framework of a dialogue. This is a

different format from that of the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted, which presented

philosophers within a framework borrowed from Old Comedy. Though Lucian‘s

―Menippean‖ dialogues invert the model of the Fisherman and Twice Prosecuted, their

comic and philosophic elements explore the merits of Menippus‘ approach in a similar

fashion to Lucian‘s treatment of Diogenes and the personification of the various schools

in the previous chapter. In this section, I will examine the Parasite as a third variation on

the genre of the ―comic dialogue,‖ in which we find Lucian pulling a character from

comedy and inserting him into a philosophical scenario. To briefly summarize this text,

the parasite Simon seeks to convince Lucian‘s persona, Tychiades, that the act of being a

parasite is a ηέρλε, which surpasses all others, including rhetoric and philosophy.

Whereas the previously discussed dialogues took up a specific philosophical figure,

school, or tenet, such as parrhesia, this dialogue focuses not on a philosophical figure but

the comic one of a parasite. In presenting this comic character, however, Lucian subverts

our expectations by attributing to him not the language of comedy but that of a Stoic

philosopher. As Nesselrath has shown, Simon‘s attempts to define the parasitic ηέρλε

draws on a particularly Stoic style of argumentation only to assert that its value as a ηέρλε

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derives from the pleasure it affords its practitioner, a decidedly un-Stoic ideal.42

Lucian‘s

attribution of such conflicting arguments to a comic character allows him, as I will show,

to address not a single philosophical figure but the conflict between the Stoic and

Epicurean schools. Although ostensibly about the parasitic art, this dialogue uses the

combination of comic and philosophic elements to interrogate the value of these

philosophical disagreements. Lucian‘s answer, as I will suggest, is that they are

ultimately futile, and in mocking them, Lucian once again offers himself and his comic

dialogues up as an alternative.

Lucian achieves this, however, not simply through the comic figure of Simon but

through his persona, Tychiades. In the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted, we saw how

the figures of Parrhesiades and the Syrian reflect the larger concerns found within these

texts regarding Lucian‘s claim to free speech and outsider status respectively.43

Though

he also appears in the Lover of Lies, a dialogue in which Tychiades questions the veracity

of ghost stories, Tychiades differs from Parrhesiades and the Syrian in that he is not the

central character in the Parasite but Simon‘s interlocutor. This reversal of our

expectations, as I will argue, suggests that Lucian is emphasizing the importance of the

dialogue itself, rather than one particular character. To illustrate this point, I will begin

my discussion with the figure of Simon the parasite: first as a stock character from

comedy and then as a Lucianic character whose presence in this dialogue undermines the

42

For a discussion of the philosophical resonances found in Lucian‘s discussion of ηέρλε, see Nesselrath

(1985:123-156). 43

As Saïd has suggested, a common feature of Lucian‘s writing is the complex and playful ways he inserts

either the authorial ―I‖ into his texts or figures, such as Parrhesiades and the Syrian, intended to invoke an

authorial image. For a discussion of all of Lucian‘s various personae, see Saïd (1993).

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seriousness of the rivalry between the Stoics and Epicureans. I will then conclude my

discussion with the figure of Tychiades. Just as Parrhesiades‘ name emphasizes

parrhesia in the Fisherman, Tychiades‘ highlights ηύρε in this dialogue, a focus that has

led Nesselrath to contend that Tychiades is more suited for the Lover of Lies than the

Parasite. While Tychiades‘ name and its emphasis on chance may initially appear

disconnected from the subject matter of the dialogue, I will argue that it recalls the

different philosophical interpretations of ηύρε, thus reflecting the philosophic conflict

found in Simon‘s language. Unlike in the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted, the

Parasite does not offer a definition of Lucian‘s comedic-philosophical approach, but

enacts it. In this enactment of it, Lucian challenges the established philosophical schools

at the same time as he offers himself as a welcome alternative.

The Character of the Parasite

In the context of the Parasite, Lucian‘s debt to comedy appears not in the dialogue‘s

scenario or language, but in its central figure of Simon the parasite. The parasite is a

stock character from Middle and New Comedy that, as Nesselrath has argued, has its

origins in the figure of the flatter (θόιαμ) of Old Comedy.44

Nesselrath‘s arguments for

the connection between the θόιαμ and the parasite rest heavily on a passage found in

Athenaeus‘ Deipnosophistes, in which one of the participants in Athenaeus‘ dinner party,

Plutarchus, reports that the ancient poets initially referred to the parasite as θόιαμ

44

For a complete account of the comic character of the θόιαμ, as well as its development into the parasite,

see Nesselrath (1985:88-111). According to Athenaeus‘ character Plutarchus, the parasite was not

originally a comic character, but a temple attendant (Deipn. 6.26).

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(6.236). To support this point, Plutarchus points to the fact that Eupolis wrote a play

entitled Flatterers, which he takes as proof that the parasite was not an uncommon figure

in the plays of Old Comedy. From the little that survives of Eupolis‘ play, it seems to

have centered on the character of Callias and his newly inherited wealth.45

In addition to

Eupolis‘ play, we also possess several Aristophanic fragments in which the character of

the θόιαμ is featured. While one depicts a parasite picking dandruff off his host‘s cloak

and grey hairs from his beard, others show the θόιαμ removing fuzz from his patron‘s

cloak and committing perjury for him.46

From these fragments, it becomes clear that, as the precedent for the parasite, the

θόιαμ is characterized by his willingness to debase himself by performing demeaning

and even unlawful tasks for a reward. It is ultimately this readiness to demean himself

that led to the development of the character of the parasite. In her discussion of how this

character type developed, Damon notes that the term parasite does not appear in Old

Comedy, but arose in Middle Comedy from a joke concerning the θόιαμ‘s desire to

always be near food, hence παξάζηηνο.47

It is believed that this joke eventually led to the

development of two different character types: the θόιαμ, who typically appears as an

obsequious follower, and the parasite, who was driven largely by a desire for food.48

45

Although few details are known about this play, the third hypothesis to Aristophanes‘ Peace records that

Eupolis‘ θόιαθεο won first prize at the City Dionysia in 421 BCE, where it defeated the Peace,

(ἐλίθεζε δὲ ηῶ δξάκαηη ὁ πνηεηὴο ἐπὶ ἄξρνληνο Ἀιθαίνπ ἐλ ἄζηεη. πξηνο Εὔπνιηο Κόιαμη.) For a

discussion of this, see Storey (2003: 179-183). 46

Kassel and Austin fr. 416 and 659. See also Knights 869-911. For a discussion of this, see Nesselrath

(1985: 92-99) and Damon (1998: 30). 47

See Damon (1998: 12) and Nesselrath (1985: 99). The prevalence of the parasite in Middle Comedy,

however, is difficult to discern given the fact that our evidence is based largely on the discussion of the

parasite found in Athenaeus, where poets such as Alexis and Plato Comicus are quoted, (6.234-48). 48

Damon (1998:12-13).

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According to Nesselrath, the distinction between these two character types continued in

New and Roman comedy.49

From this brief summary of the development of this

character type, we can begin to see how Simon the parasite is a distinctly comic character

type that Lucian has transplanted into the context of a philosophical dialogue.

Lucian’s Parasite: Simon the Stoic?

As a figure rooted in the comic tradition, Lucian‘s parasite is striking given the

philosophical language he adopts throughout the dialogue. At the opening of the

dialogue, Tychiades mocks Simon with the following question:

ηί πνηε ἄξα, ὦ Σίκσλ, νἱ κὲλ ἄιινη ἄλζξσπνη θαὶ ἐιεύζεξνη θαὶ δνῦινη ηέ

ρλελ ἕθαζηόο ηηλα ἐπίζηαληαη δη‘ ἧο αὑηνῖο ηέ εἰζηλ θαὶ ἄιιῳ

ρξήζηκνη, ζὺ δέ, ὡο ἔνηθελ, ἔξγνλ νὐδὲλ ἔρεηο δη‘ νὗ ἄλ ηη ἢ αὐηὸο

ἀπόλαην ἢ ἄιιῳ κεηαδνίεο;

Why is it, Simon, that other men, both freedmen and slaves, each know

some craft through which they are useful to themselves and others, but

you, as it seems, have no work through which you yourself in some way

profit or you give something to another person? (Parasite 1)

Though Simon initially admits that he lacks the knowledge of a traditional ηέρλε, such as

medicine, rhetoric, or philosophy, he eventually concedes that he does in fact posses a

ηέρλε, namely that of being a parasite. The language of Tychiades‘ opening question and

Simon‘s response signals that this dialogue is engaged in the traditional distinction

between ηέρλε and ἐπηζηήκε that we find in Plato, Aristotle, and the surviving fragments

of Stoic writers.50

While Nesselrath has highlighted the full range of philosophical

49

Nesselrath (1985: 99-111). 50

Though Plato‘s Socrates often invokes various te/xnai in support of an argument, it is hard to distinguish

a definition of these terms which holds true across the Platonic corpus. At times, the two terms can appear

201

influences on this dialogue, Robinson has argued that Simon‘s act of defining the lifestyle

of a parasite as a ηέρλε reveals a debt to Plato‘s Gorgias and its attempts to define

rhetoric as a ηέρλε.51

In contrast to these approaches, I will focus on Simon‘s specifically

Stoic language and examine how Lucian uses the inherent incongruity found between this

language and the comic character voicing it to undermine not just Stoicism but its conflict

with Epicureanism as well.

The Stoic nature of Simon‘s language appears in his definition of the parasitic art,

his use of Homeric exempla as supporting evidence, and the ways in which he

reinterprets that evidence. Beginning with a general discussion, Simon offers the

following broad definition of what constitutes a ηέρλε: ηέρλε ἐζηίλ, ὡο ἐγὼ

δηακλεκνλεύσ ζνθνῦ ηηλνο ἀθνύζαο, ζύζηεκα ἐθ θαηαιήςεσλ ζπγγεγπκλαζκέλσλ

πξόο ηη ηέινο εὔρξεζηνλ ηῶ βίῳ (An art is, as I remember distinctly hearing from some

wise man, a system of perceptions exercised together towards some useful end in life, 4).

As scholars have noted, Simon‘s words here are striking similar to a definition of ηέρλε

attributed to Zeno by Sextus Empiricus‘ (Πζα ηνίλπλ ηέρλε ζύζηεκά ἐζηηλ

ἐθ θαηαιήςεσλ ζπγγεγπκλαζκέλσλ θαὶ ἐπὶ ηέινο εὔρξεζηνλ ηλ ἐλ ηῶ βίῳ

to be interchangeable. In the Charmides, for example, Socrates argues that medicine is the doctor‘s te/xnh

and consequently represents the e0pisth/mh or knowledge of health, (165c). Aristotle, on the other hand, in

book six of the Nichomachean Ethics divides the rational soul into two parts: the calculating half (to\ logistiko/n) and the scientific half (to\ e0pisthmoniko/n, 1139a5-15). He then further divides the scientific

half into five separate parts: te/xnh, e0pisth/mh, fro/nhsij, sofi/a, and nou=j, (NE 1139b15). These

subcategories indicate that at least for Aristotle there was an important distinction between the practical

knowledge of a te/xnh and the more theoretical knowledge of e0pisth/mh. While we find discussions of

these two terms in the works of Plato and Aristotle, it is not until the development of Stoicism that we find

a theory expressed about the relationship of these two terms. For a full discussion of the development of

these terms, see Long (1974: 124-131), Schofield (1980: 283-308), and Nesselrath (1985:144-156). 51

Robinson (1979: 27).

202

ιακβαλνπζλ ηὴλ ἀλαθνξάλ· II.2).52

Although it is difficult to discern the exact

relationship between Lucian‘s text and the Adversus Mathematicos in which this

definition is found, the similarities between these two definitions nonetheless suggest that

Lucian here may be referencing a standard definition that either was or came to be

associated with Zeno.

One particularly Stoic quality of Simon‘s definition appears in his assertion that a

ηέρλε results from perceptions (ἐθ θαηαιήςεσλ). A significant word within the Stoic

philosophy, kataleipsis is integral to how the Stoics regarded the acquisition of

knowledge. As Schofield notes, Zeno stands in ―marked contrast‖ to the rejection of the

senses by the Skeptics and Epicureans in his theory of phantasia kataleiptikē or

‗apprehensive presentation,‘ which contended that ―an impression is caused by a real

external object and accurately represents it.‖53

For example, among the surviving

fragments attributed to Zeno, we find knowledge defined as something that is grasped or

apprehended: εἶλαη ηὴλ ἐπηζηήκελ θαηάιεςηλ ἀζθαιῆ θαὶ ἀκεηάπησηνλ ὑπὸ ιόγνπ,

(knowledge is a secure and unchanging apprehension by reason, SVF 68).54

According

to Sextus Empiricus, for the Stoics, knowledge (θξόλεζηο) provides the ηέρλε for life:

νἱ δὲ Σησηθνὶ θαὶ ἄληηθξύο θαζη ηὴλ θξόλεζηλ, ἐπηζηήκελ νὖζαλ ἀγαζλ θαὶ θαθλ

θαὶ νὐδεηέξσλ, ηέρλελ ὑπάξρεηλ πεξὶ ηὸλ βίνλ, (And the Stoics openly say that practical

wisdom, being the knowledge of good, evil, and neither, that provides an initial craft for

52

See Nesselrath (1985: 275-276). 53

Schofield (1980: 284). See also Diogenes Laertius, VII 45-6, 49. 54

Diogenes Laertius records a similar definition: ἐπηζηήκελ εἶλαη ηὴλ ἀζθαιῆ θαὶ βεβαίαλ θαὶ ἀκεηάζεηνλ

ὑπὸ ιόγνπ θαηάιεςηλ, VII.47. For a discussion of the Stoic‘s theory of knowledge, see Long (1974:123-

131).

203

life, Adversus Mathematicos 11.170).55

If we return to Simon‘s definition of ηέρλε

(ηέρλε ἐζηίλ, ὡο ἐγὼ δηακλεκνλεύσ ζνθνῦ ηηλνο ἀθνύζαο, ζύζηεκα ἐθ θαηαιήςεσλ

ζπγγεγπκλαζκέλσλ πξόο ηη ηέινο εὔρξεζηνλ ηῶ βίῳ), we can begin to see the Stoic, yet

comic, guise that Simon fashions for himself. As he defines ηέρλε, Simon cites as his

source a certain wise man (ζνθνῦ ηηλνο), suggesting that, while this is a standard

definition, he cannot remember its actual source. Instead, he is repeating something he

heard, perhaps while hoping for food, and does not actually understand it. This is

evidenced by how he will come to interpret the adjective εὔρξεζηνλ. Whereas the

passage from Sextus Empiricus contends that every ηέρλε arises from kataleipsis,

Simon‘s definition speaks of ηέρλε as a whole, the use of which, as we will see, comes in

its ability to receive handouts. He is not a real philosopher, but instead a comic figure

adopting a mock philosophical guise.

As the dialogue progresses, Simon assumes the Socratic role of leading

Tychiades, his interlocutor, through the argument that the parasitic ηέρλε is valuable and

worth practicing. After first defining it as a ηέρλε, Simon goes on to show that, since a

parasite must be able to distinguish between those who will feed him and those who will

not, the parasitic art is valuable for its ability to distinguish between men who are fakes

and good men, (δηαθξίλεηλ ηνύο ηε θηβδήινπο ηλ ἀλζξώπσλ θαὶ ηνὺο ἀγαζνύο, 4). In

Simon‘s opinion, this ability to discern between good men and charlatans makes the

parasitic art better than that of divination and as such reflects one of Lucian‘s foremost

concerns, namely the importance of being able to distinguish between true philosophers

55

See Long (1974: 123-131).

204

and fakes. As a figure who claims to be able to detect charlatans, Simon is representative

of Lucian‘s project and similarly straddles the divide between comedy and philosophy.

He is a stock figure from comedy, yet is well-versed in the language of philosophy. On

the most basic level, the incongruity of Simon‘s character type and language is intended

to be funny. Yet, on another, it reflects Lucian‘s own project, since like Lucian‘s account

of his work, Simon‘s powers of discernment stem from comedy. As the only parasite

presented in this text, Simon necessarily represents the embodiment of the parasitic art

and, as a figure that unites comedy and philosophy, he reinforces the arguments made in

the Fisherman and the Twice Prosecuted that Lucian‘s blend of comedy and philosophy

will effectively reveal true philosophers from the fakes. The arguments made in this text

for the value of the parasitic ηέρλε, while clearly ironic, reinforce Lucian‘s claim to the

value of his comic approach to philosophy.

The comic incongruities found in this text, however, are not limited to Simon‘s

status as a stock character from comedy and his Stoic language, but also include the types

of arguments that he uses that language to make. As we have seen, Simon‘s initial

arguments are concerned with defining ἡ παξαζηηηθή according to an apparently

established definition of a ηέρλε. While Tychiades agrees with Simon‘s arguments, he

nonetheless asks Simon to define ἡ παξαζηηηθὴ according to the previously accepted

definition of a ηέρλε: ὀξζο ζύ γε ιέγσλ. δνθεῖ γὰξ δή κνη νὕησο ἂλ κάιηζηα ὡξίζζαη·

παξαζηηηθή ἐζηηλ ηέρλε πνηέσλ θαὶ βξσηέσλ θαὶ ηλ δηὰ ηαῦηα ιεθηέσλ θαὶ πξαθηέσλ,

ηέινο δὲ αὐηῆο ηὸ ἡδύ. (Right. It seems to me that the definition might best be expressed

thus: Parasitic is that art which is concerned with food and drink and what must be said

205

and done to obtain them, and its ηέινο is pleasure, 9). In this reiteration of the definition,

Simon once again employs decidedly Stoic language, but now attributes to this art the

ηέινο or purpose of pleasure (ηὸ ἡδύ).56

As an end result, pleasure is not usually

associated with the Stoic school but rather the Epicureans.57

Tychiades draws our

attention to this fact by offering the following response: ὑπέξεπγέ κνη δνθεῖο ὁξίζαζζαη

ηὴλ ζεαπηνῦ ηέρλελ· ἀιι‘ ἐθεῖλν ζθόπεη, κὴ πξὸο ἐλίνπο ηλ θηινζόθσλ κάρε ζνη

πεξὶ ηνῦ ηέινπο ᾖ. (My very noble friend, you seem to me to define your art, but consider

this, namely that in the eyes of some philosophers there might be fight about your ηέινο,

9). Tychiades‘ use of ηέινο here functions on two levels: in its most immediate sense, it

refers to the ηέινο of pleasure just stated by Simon, while at the same time it points more

abstractly to the disagreement among philosophers concerning the ηέινο of life, namely

philosophy.

In an attempt to resolve the apparent contradiction between Simon‘s language and

arguments, Nesselrath has suggested that Simon‘s reference to pleasure is not intended to

invoke the Epicureans, but rather looks ahead to the reference to εὐδαηκνλία in the

subsequent lines, (Καὶ κὴλ ἀπόρξε γε εἴπεξ ἔζηαη ηὸ αὐηὸ ηέινο εὐδαηκνλίαο θαὶ

παξαζηηηθῆο, Par. 9-10). Although Simon does later contend that the ηέινο of the

parasitic art is εὐδαηκνλία, we should not discount Tychiades‘ earlier statement regarding

the philosophical battle (κάρε) that Simon‘s words might incite. Rather than attempt to

explain away these apparent contradictions, I would like to suggest here that they are in

fact the point. Lucian has created in Simon the parasite a comic character whose attempts

56

See Nesselrath (1985: 295-6). 57

See Long (1974:296).

206

at defining his own philosophical approach in fact embody the conflict between the

Epicureans and the Stoics. In the Twice Prosecuted, we saw how Lucian enacted this

conflict in the case involving the Stoa and Pleasure, who is represented by Epicurus.

Despite the fact that Pleasure and Epicurus win unanimously, the Stoa proclaims that he

will appeal to Zeus and this lack of resolution implies that Lucian regarded the conflict

between the two schools as unending and ultimately unproductive. In the context of the

Parasite, this conflict appears in the very language of Simon, who adopts Stoic and

Epicurean tropes to argue for the superiority of what is essentially the art of being a

comic character. Lucian here mocks this conflict by subjugating it to comedy, an act

which effectively offers comedy, specifically his own philosophical appropriation of it, as

its solution.

Although Tychiades points to the fact that Simon‘s Stoic language seemingly jars

with the role of pleasure in the parasitic art, Simon does not concede this apparent

contradiction, but turns instead to Homer for further proof. Since Simon has thus far

adopted a Stoic guise for himself, it will be useful first to discuss briefly the admittedly

complex question of how the Stoics approached Homer so as to contextualize Simon‘s

reliance on him. Our understanding of Stoic interpretations of Homer stems largely from

Cornutus‘ etymological readings of Greek mythology and a story concerning Zeno

preserved by Diogenes Laertius.58

At the opening of his life of Zeno, Diogenes Laertius

records that the philosopher consulted an oracle about what he should do to obtain the

best life. The oracle responded that he should be in contact with the dead, (εἰ

58

For a discussion of this, see Long (2001: 58-85).

207

ζπγρξσηίδνηην ηνῖο λεθξνῖο), and Zeno proceeded to study the ancient authors

(ὅζελ μπλέληα ηὰ ηλ ἀξραίσλ ἀλαγηλώζθεηλ, 7.2). Citing Hecaton of Rhodes, a Stoic

philosopher, and Apollonius of Tyre as his sources, Diogenes uses this anecdote to

characterize Zeno as a philosopher who does not reject the merits of the poets, as his

Epicurean and Cynic counterparts did.59

Besides this tale, Diogenes Laertius also records

among the works attributed to Zeno five books of Homeric questions (Πξνβιεκάηα

κεξηθλ πέληε) and a work on reading poetry (Πεξὶ πνηεηηθῆο ἀθξνάζεσο).

From this list of works, it has generally been assumed that, unlike their Epicurean

and Cynic counterparts, the Stoics read in particular Homer and Hesiod as allegories in

support for their own philosophical doctrines.60

In his explanation of the Stoic approach

to the poets, Long has suggested that ―the Stoics did not regard the times in which they

were living as specifically privileged in their share of divine logos. Their allegorical

interpretations of the poets were based on the assumption that Homer and Euripides,

Hesiod and Sophocles were also living in a world governed by the principles operative in

Zeno‘s day, and were seeking to express insights which the Stoics themselves had

systematically grasped.‖61

Zeno, for example, is reported to have interpreted Hesiod‘s

chaos as water and thus used Hesiod as proof of the role that the Stoics attribute to

―primal moisture‖ in the creation of the universes, ( θαὶ Ζήλσλ δὲ ηὸ παξ‘ Ἡζηόδῳ ράνο

ὕδσξ εἶλαί θεζηλ, νὗ ζπληδάλνληνο ἰιὺλ γίλεζζαη, ἧο πεγλπκέλεο ἡ γῆ ζηεξεκληνῦηαη.

59

According to Long, the Epicureans and Cynics were hostile to the poets because of their status within the

paideia of the period. See Long (1980: 164-5). 60

Long (1980:165). 61

Long (1980: 165). See also Tate (1929), Pepin (1958: 105), and Lamberton (1986:11-16). Boys-Stones

notes that this trend can be traced to the Pre-Socratic‘s, but argues that Stoic allegory went beyond

justifying their place at the center of Greek culture, but played an apologetic role as well. See Boys-Stones

(2001: 32).

208

ηξίηνλ δὲ Ἔξσηα γεγνλέλαη θαζ‘ Ἡζίνδνλ, ἵλα ηὸ πῦξ παξαζηήζῃ· ππξσδέζηεξνλ

γὰξ πάζνο Ἔξσο. SVF 104).62

Though Zeno is here attested as using Hesiod to illustrate

his argument, Long has recently called into question the prevalent view that the Stoics

read Homer allegorically, contending that either we do not possess enough evidence or

that their readings were more akin to etymologies such as those found in Cornutus.63

Whether all Stoics read Homer as allegory, however, does not in the end detract from the

point that the tradition surrounding Zeno records that he sought precedents for his own

theories within the works of the poets, in particular Homer.64

This point will become

useful when we consider how Simon invokes Homer and specifically the figure of

Odysseus as evidence of the superiority of the parasitic art.

Despite Tychiades‘ concern regarding the apparent contradiction in Simon‘s

language and arguments, Simon is not dissuaded, but turns to the Odyssey to illustrate his

point:

ὁ γὰξ ζνθὸο Ὅκεξνο ηὸλ ηνῦ παξαζίηνπ βίνλ ζαπκάδσλ ὡο ἄξα καθάξηνο

θαὶ δεισηὸο εἴε κόλνο, νὕησ θεζίλ·

νὐ γὰξ ἔγσγέ ηί θεκη ηέινο ραξηέζηεξνλ εἶλαη,

ἢ ὅη‘ ἂλ εὐθξνζύλε κὲλ ἔρῃ θάηα δῆκνλ ἅπαληα,

δαηηπκόλεο δ‘ ἀλὰ δώκαη‘ ἀθνπάδσληαη ἀνηδνῦ

ἥκελνη ἑμείεο, παξὰ δὲ πιήζσζη ηξάπεδαη

ζίηνπ θαὶ θξεηλ, κέζπ δ‘ ἐθ θξεηῆξνο ἀθύζζσλ

νἰλνρόνο θνξέῃζη θαὶ ἐγρείῃ δεπάεζζη.

62

For further discussion of this, see Long (1980: 164). 63

See Long (2001: 58-85). In this essay, Long argues against what he sees as the established view of how

the Stoics read Homer. For examples of these views, see De Lacy (1948), Pfeiffer (1968), as well as

Long‘s own 1980 essay. Boys-Stones similarly argues that the issue is more complex than has been

previously recognized. See Boys-Stones (2001: 31-43). 64

By Lucian‘s day, allegorical readings of Homer were a common practice and not limited to the Stoics.

For a discussion of this, see Lamberton (1986). For a discussion of Homer in the Second Sophistic, see

Zeitlin (2001).

209

θαὶ ὡο νὐρ ἱθαλο ηαῦηα ζαπκάδσλ κιινλ ηὴλ αὑηνῦ γλώκελ πνηεῖ

θαλεξσηέξαλ εὖ ιέγσλ·

ηνῦηό ηί κνη θάιιηζηνλ ἐλὶ θξεζὶλ εἴδεηαη εἶλαη,

νὐρ ἕηεξόλ ηη, ἐμ ὧλ θεζηλ, ἢ ηὸ παξαζηηεῖλ εὔδαηκνλ λνκίδσλ.

For the wise Homer admired the life of a parasite on the grounds that he

alone is blessed and enviable, and he says the following: ―Nothing we do

is sweeter than this— a cheerful gathering of all the people sitting side by

side throughout the halls, feasting and listening to a singer of tales, the

tables filled with food and drink, the server drawing wine from the bowl

and bringing it around to fill our cups.‖ And if this were not enough to

express his admiration he makes his own opinion more evident: ―For me,

this is the finest thing in the world.‖ From what he says, he counts

nothing else happy but to be a parasite. (Parasite 10)

Taken from the opening of book nine of the Odyssey, these lines were originally spoken

by Odysseus as he responds to Demodocus‘ description of the Trojan horse. Homer,

however, is a frequent source for Lucian, and on the surface there is nothing inherently

unusual about this passage, except perhaps its length.65

Like his initial definition of a

ηέρλε, which he claims to have heard from a wise man, Simon here characterizes Homer

as ζνθόο, indicating that he has assumed a role analogous to that of the anonymous

philosopher cited by Simon in his initial definition of ηέρλε.66

In his reading of Homer as

a wise man, Simon has replaced their original context with a new pseudo-philosophical

one. He is, as it were, providing Tychiades with a kind of allegorical reading of Homer,

albeit one according to the parasitic ηέρλε.

In his ―parasitic‖ reinterpretation of the opening of book nine, Simon fixates on

Odysseus‘ claim that the banquet represents ηὸ ηέινο ραξηέζηεξνλ and uses this assertion

65

See Nesselrath (1985:299-301). 66

As Boys-Stones (2001) notes, the Stoics in fact did not label poets as philosophers, a point which

highlights the fact that Simon is merely assuming the guise of a philosopher (34).

210

to argue that Odysseus is himself a proto-parasite, thus proving the superiority of the

parasitic art.67

To make this point, however, Simon first demonstrates how Odysseus

could be read as Stoic or Epicurean and how neither of these interpretations is in line with

Odysseus‘ assertion in book nine. Beginning with Odysseus as a potential Stoic

paradigm, Simon points to the hardships suffered by Odysseus:

θαίηνη γε εἴπεξ ἐβνύιεην δπζζεὺο ηὸ θαηὰ ηνὺο Σηστθνὺο ἐπαηλεῖλ

ηέινο,ἐδύλαην ηαπηὶ ιέγεηλ ὅηε ηὸλ Φηινθηήηελ ἀλήγαγελ ἐθ ηῆο Λήκλνπ,

ὅηε ηὸ Ἴιηνλ ἐμεπόξζεζελ, ὅηε ηνὺο Ἕιιελαο θεύγνληαο θαηέζρελ, ὅηε εἰο

Τξνίαλ εἰζῆιζελ ἑαπηὸλ καζηηγώζαο θαὶ θαθὰ θαὶ Σηστθὰ ῥάθε ἐλδύο· ἀ

ιιὰ ηόηε νὐθ εἶπε ηνῦην ηέινο ραξηέζηεξνλ.

After all, if Odysseus had wished to commend the Stoic end, he could

have said so when he brought Philoctetes back from Lemnos, when he

sacked Troy, when he checked the Greeks in their flight, when he entered

Troy after flogging himself and putting on wretched Stoic rags; but on

these occasions he did not call that a more delightful end! (Parasite 10)

For Simon, war and misfortune are indicative of the Stoic ηέινο and the fact that

Odysseus did not consider it to be pleasant proves his point that the parasitic art and the

pleasure that results from it makes it superior to all other ways of life. In contrast to this

passage, Simon presents Odysseus as a potential Epicurean figure by drawing on

moments in his mythology in which pleasure is emphasized.

ἀιιὰ κὴλ θαὶ ἐλ ηῶ ηλ πηθνπξείσλ βίῳ γελόκελνο αὖζηο παξὰ ηῇ Καιπ

ςνῖ, ὅηε αὐηῶ ὑπῆξρελ ἐλ ἀξγίᾳ ηε βηνηεύεηλ θαὶ ηξπθλ θαὶ βηλεῖλ ηὴλ

Ἄηιαληνο ζπγαηέξα θαὶ θηλεῖλ πάζαο ηὰο ιείαο θηλήζεηο,νὐδὲ ηόηε εἶπε

ηνῦην ηὸ ηέινο ραξηέζηεξνλ, ἀιιὰ ηὸλ ηλ παξαζίησλ βίνλ. ἐθαινῦλην

δὲ δαηηπκόλεο νἱ παξάζηηνη ηόηε.

Moreover, after he had entered in the Epicurean life once more in

Calypso‘s isle, when he had it in his power to live in idleness and luxury,

to dally with the daughter of Atlas, and to enjoy every pleasurable

67

The original Homeric line is as follows: νὐ γὰξ ἐγώ γέ ηί θεκη ηέινο ραξηέζηεξνλ εἶλαη (For I say that

there is no more pleasing end, IX.5).

211

emotion, even then he did not call that end more delightful, but the life of

a parasite, who at that time was called a banqueter. (Parasite 10)

From these reinterpretations of the figure of Odysseus, Simon demonstrates how the two

schools can appropriate the same figure as evidence of their philosophical approach.

These passages thus serve as paradigms for Simon‘s own ―parasitic‖ interpretation of

Odysseus‘ comment found at the opening of book nine of the Odyssey that the banquet

brings the most delightful end (ηὸ ηέινο ραξηέζηεξνλ).

In appropriating Stoic and Epicurean language to define the parasitic

ηέρλε as a philosophic approach, Simon uses Odysseus to take particular aim at the

Epicureans, arguing that Epicurus plagiarized the idea that the ηέινο of a philosophical

life is εὐδαηκνλία from the parasitic ηέρλε, (11). To prove this point, Simon offers the

following clarification of the parasitic ηέινο:

ἔγσγε ἡγνῦκαη ηὸ ἡδὺ πξηνλ κὲλ ηὸ ηῆο ζαξθὸο ἀόριεηνλ, ἔπεηηα ηὸ κὴ ζ

νξύβνπ θαὶ ηαξαρῆο ηὴλ ςπρὴλ ἐκπεπιῆζζαη. ηνύησλ ηνίλπλ ὁ κὲλ

παξάζηηνο ἑθαηέξσλ ηπγράλεη, ὁ δὲ πίθνπξνο νὐδὲ ζαηέξνπ·

ὁ γὰξ δεηλ πεξὶ ζρήκαηνο γῆο θαὶ θόζκσλ ἀπεηξίαο θαὶ κεγέζνπο ἡιίνπ

θαὶ ἀπνζηεκάησλ θαὶ πξώησλ ζηνηρείσλ θαὶ πεξὶ ζελ, εἴηε εἰζὶλ

εἴηε νὐθ εἰζί, θαὶ πεξὶ αὐηνῦ ηνῦ ηέινπο ἀεὶ πνιεκλ θαὶ δηαθεξόκελνο

πξόο ηηλαο νὐ κόλνλ ἐλ ἀλζξσπίλαηο, ἀιιὰ θαὶ ἐλ θνζκηθαῖο ἐζηηλ

ὀριήζεζηλ. ὁ δὲ παξάζηηνο πάληα θαιο ἔρεηλ νἰόκελνο θαὶ

πεπηζηεπθὼο κὴ ἄιισο ηαῦηα ἔρεηλ ἄκεηλνλ ἢ ἔρεη, κεηὰ πνιιῆο

ἀδείαο θαὶ γαιήλεο, νὐδελὸο αὐηῶ ηνηνύηνπ παξελνρινῦληνο, ἐζζίεη

θαὶ θνηκηαη ὕπηηνο ἀθεηθὼο ηνὺο πόδαο θαὶ ηὰο ρεῖξαο ὥζπεξ δπζζεὺο

ηῆο Σρεξίαο ἀπνπιέσλ νἴθαδε.

I for my part consider that pleasure is first of all the freedom of the flesh

from discomfort, and secondly, not having the spirit full of turbulence and

commotion. Now then, each of these things is attained by the parasite, but

neither by Epicurus. For with his inquires about the shape of the earth, the

infinitude of the universe, the magnitude of the sun, distances in space,

primal elements, and whether the gods exist or not, and with his continual

strife and bickering with certain persons about the end itself, he is

involved not only in the troubles of man but in those of the universe. The

212

parasite, however, thinking that everything is all right and thoroughly

convinced it would not be any better if it were other than as it is, eats and

sleeps in great peace and comfort, with nothing of that sort annoying him,

flat on his back, with his arms and legs flung out, like Odysseus sailing

home to Scheria. (Parasite 11)

As Nesselrath notes about this passage, Simon draws heavily on the language of

Epicureanism, specifically his definition of pleasure, to refute Epicurus by suggesting

that it is not through Epicurus that one can achieve pleasure but rather through the

parasitic art.68

In making this claim, Lucian has Simon situate himself on a level with

Epicurus, only to reject Epicurus‘ concern for cosmological questions in favor of a life

devoted to eating and sleeping in comfort. In our discussion of the development of the

parasite as a comic figure, we saw how he came to be characterized by a drive for food

and the finer things in life. Though Simon supplants Epicurus with himself, his

philosophical approach is nothing more than the typical image of a parasite. Simon‘s use

of Stoic language to contest Epicurus mocks these types of debates at the same time as it

suggests that, if a comic parasite can appropriate philosophical language, there is

something inherently wrong with this type of philosophy.

Through the figure of Simon, Lucian challenges the status quo of philosophy by

no longer restricting Simon‘s attacks to solely the Stoics and Epicureans, but broadening

them to include the practice as whole. As the dialogue continues, Simon asserts that in

fact the parasitic ηέρλε surpasses all others, including philosophy.69

Among Simon‘s

criticisms of philosophy is the fact that the different schools do not all maintain the same

68

Nesselrath (1985:311). 69

According to Nesselrath, Simon‘s critique of rhetoric may be rooted in Philodemus‘ On Rhetoric and as

such reignites the tension between rhetoric and philosophy that we find in Plato and the subsequent

philosophic traditions, (1985:143-156).

213

opinion about the value of rhetoric, which has the effect of calling into question the very

existence of the subject (29-30). The parasitic ηέρλε, however, holds true for both Greeks

and Barbarians and it is without sects:

νὐδέ εἰζηλ ὡο ἔνηθελ ἐλ παξαζίηνηο ηηλεο νἷνλ Σηστθνὶ ἢ πηθνύξεηνη δόγκ

αηα ἔρνληεο δηάθνξα, ἀιιὰ πζη πξὸο ἅπαληαο ὁκνινγία ηίο ἐζηηλ θαὶ

ζπκθσλία ηλ ἔξγσλ θαὶ ηνῦ ηέινπο. ὥζηε ἔκνηγε δνθεῖ ἡ παξαζηηηθὴ

θηλδπλεύεηλ θαηά γε ηνῦην θαὶ ζνθία εἶλαη.

Nor are there, it seems, among parasites any sects like the Stoics or the

Epicureans, holding different doctrines; no, there is concord among them

all and agreement in their works and in their end. So to my thinking

Parasitic may well be, in this respect at least, actually wisdom. (Parasite

30)

Through Simon, Lucian here faults the divisions among philosophy in a manner similar

to what we saw in the Twice Prosecuted. In that text, Lucian used the comic agon and

Cratinus‘ Wine Flask to highlight the absurdity of such quarrels. Likewise in the

Parasite he uses the comic character of Simon to point to what he sees as the problems

that arise out of the disagreements between the philosophical schools. By presenting

Simon as a comic alternative to this problem, Lucian once again demonstrates how he

uses comedy to call for a new approach to an ongoing problem. Though the parasitic

ηέρλε is clearly absurd, this exercise of defining it in relationship to the established

schools focuses our attention on how these schools fail to provide answers.

As we have seen thus far, the dialogue presented in this text is largely one-sided

with the comic figure of Simon presenting arguments about the parasitic ηέρλε and

Tychiades, for the most part, assenting to each of them. By shaping the dialogue in this

way, Lucian draws our attention to Simon and his arguments, while Tychiades plays a

supporting role. As I mentioned above, Nesselrath interprets Tychiades and the emphasis

214

his name places on ηύρε as out of place in the Parasite and generally better suited for the

ghost stories found in the Lover of Lies, the only other dialogue in which he appears.70

Nesselrath‘s problem with Tychiades‘ presence in this text derives largely from his

complacency to Simon‘s arguments. In response to Nesselrath‘s concerns, I would like to

suggest here that Tychiades‘ role as interlocutor is in fact significant because, like

Menippus‘ anonymous companions, he is in a role analogous to our own and shapes our

reactions to Simon‘s arguments. It is ultimately through his character that we witness

how Lucian undermines arguments about the superiority of a particular philosophical

approach. I will therefore conclude my analysis of the Parasite with a brief discussion of

Tychiades, his role within the dialogue, and finally the significance of his name.

Tychiades

Although Tychiades begins the dialogue by mocking Simon for his lack of a ηέρλε, once

Simon agrees to engage in the dialogue, Tychiades‘ role is limited to one of two

functions: raising questions that help direct the dialogue and providing statements of

assent. In terms of the first category of responses, these are generally questions of

clarification or ones designed to push Simon‘s point further. For example, upon Simon‘s

critique of the lack of agreement among the respective philosophies, Tychiades asks the

following question: πάλπ κνη δνθεῖο ἱθαλο ηαῦηα εἰξεθέλαη. ὡο δὲ θαὶ ηὰ ἄιια ρείξσλ

ἐζηὶλ ἡ θηινζνθίαο ηῆο ζῆο ηέρλεο, πο ἀπνδεηθλύεηο; (You seem to me have spoken

these things very well. But how do you prove that philosophy is inferior to your art in

70

See Nesselrath (1985: 248-9).

215

other ways, 31). As for the second category of responses, Tychiades‘ statements of

assent can vary from simple one-line responses, such as λὴ Δία, θἀκνὶ δνθεῖ, (by Zeus, it

seems to me, 13), to longer statements intended to encourage Simon in the course of his

argument. For example, Simon contends that parasites are preferable in war to

philosophers because philosophers are inexperienced in war and are cowards, (38-9).

This assertion provokes Tychiades to laugh: ὡο νὐ κέηξηνλ ἀγλα θαηαγγέιιεηο

ηλ ἀλδξλ· θαὶ ἔγσγε πάιαη γει θαη‘ ἐκαπηὸλ ἐλλνλ πνῖνο ἂλ εἴε ζπκβαιιόκελνο

παξαζίηῳ θηιόζνθνο. (You mock the contest of manhood excessively. I myself for a

long time have laughed to myself thinking how a philosopher would compare to a

parasite, 39). Tychiades‘ response to Simon here is to laugh at him and the verb

θαηαγγέιιεηο recalls how Lucian characterizes his own style of humor in the Fisherman

and Twice Prosecuted. This response to Simon, however, is also suggestive of our own

reaction to this moment and the dialogue as a whole. Like Tychiades, we laugh at the

image drawn by Simon, but on a broader level we also laugh at the very exercise that

Simon is engaged in.

Perhaps Tychiades‘ most telling response, however, is his final one. Upon

concluding his account of the parasitic art, Tychiades questions whether the

name παξαζηηηθή is in fact the right label for it (60). In response to Tychiades‘ question,

Simon proceeds to explain that it is the appropriate name because it involves eating food

with (παξά) others. This explanation provokes Tychiades to offer one final assessment of

Simon‘s argument:

ὁκνινγεῖλ ἀλάγθε. θαί ζνη ινηπὸλ ὥζπεξ νἱ παῖδεο ἀθίμνκαη θαὶ ἑῶνο

θαὶ κεη‘ ἄξηζηνλ καζεζόκελνο ηὴλ ηέρλελ. ζὺ δέ κε αὐηὴλ δίθαηνο

216

δηδάζθεηλ ἀθζόλσο, ἐπεὶ θαὶ πξηνο καζεηήο ζνη γίγλνκαη. θαζὶ δὲ

θαὶ ηὰο κεηέξαο κιινλ ηὰ πξηα θηιεῖλ ηλ ηέθλσλ

I cannot but agree. Hereafter I shall go to you like a schoolboy both in the

morning and after luncheon to learn your art. You, for your part, ought to

teach me ungrudgingly, for I shall be your first pupil. They say that

mothers love their first children more. (61)

In his discussion of Lucian‘s conclusion to this dialogue, Nesselrath finds Tychiades‘

eagerness to follow Simon problematic because of an earlier comment made by Simon

that the parasitic art is acquired not by teaching but divine inspiration (19).71

Yet, as

Reardon has pointed out, this contradiction exists only if we accept Tychiades‘ response

to be serious in tone rather than the more standard Lucianic tongue in cheek.72

Tychiades‘ joke here at the end of the dialogue is that Simon has argued so convincingly

that he has acquired a follower or rather his own parasite. He is no longer the dependent,

but has become the teacher so to speak of Tychiades, who will now be his rival for free

handouts.

As we have seen so far, Lucian uses Simon‘s status as a figure drawn from

comedy, his use of Stoic language to make Epicurean sounding arguments, and

Tychiades‘ responses to these arguments to mock the conflict between the Stoics and

Epicureans. Lucian‘s focus in this text is further highlighted when we consider his

choice of the name ―Tychiades‖ for his presumed authorial persona. In selecting

Tychiades for this dialogue, Lucian draws our attention to chance or fortune. Although

the dialogue is not itself ultimately about chance, if we read Lucian‘s choice of persona in

71

Nesselrath (1985: 185). 72

Reardon (1987:160)

217

light of the way he reenacts the quarrel between Stoics and Epicureans, we can see how

Tychiades similarly plays into this theme by drawing our attention to another contested

philosophical belief, namely the role of chance in the world. The tension in Tychiades‘

name rests on the fact that, while the Epicureans allowed for the existence of chance in

the world by positing that atoms swerve unpredictably, the Stoics attempted to explain

away chance by contending that ―for everything that happens there are conditions such

that, given them, nothing else could happen.‖ In other words, chance is nothing but an

―undiscovered cause.‖73

By his very presence in a dialogue intermingled with Stoic

language and Epicurean arguments, Tychiades further ignites the tension between these

two contesting philosophical view points. Although his name suggests a belief in chance

and thus a rejection of the Stoic need to have an explanation for everything, the mockery

for Epicurus and his followers means that we should not also read Tychiades as an

adherent of that school. Instead, like the dialogue he inhabits, his presence highlights the

ridiculousness and futility of these sorts of philosophical arguments. As Tychiades‘ joke

at the end of the dialogue indicates, Lucian uses Tychiades, his interactions with the

comic Simon, and the overall dialogue format to question the types of conflicts that arise

out of philosophical dogmatism.

The Parasite specifically confronts the tension between the Stoic and Epicurean

schools through the figures of Simon and Tychiades and in doing so, signals its

ridiculousness. In using a comic character to mock the Stoics and Epicureans, Lucian

calls into question these dogmatic approaches. Whereas the Menippus and

73

See Long (1974: 38) and (1974: 164) respectively.

218

Icaromenippus present the Hellenistic figure of Menippus as an Aristophanic hero, the

Parasite reveals the fluidity of the comic dialogue form by the very fact that the comic

aspect of this text is derived from a later, Hellenistic-style of comedy. In the next

section, we will examine how Lucian uses the language of philosophy, specifically that of

Plato, to challenge the problem of dogmatism in the Hermotimus. Presented as a dialogue

between a student of the Stoics, Hermotimus, and the Lucianic persona, Lycinus, this

dialogue questions which philosophical school will in fact lead you to knowledge? And

how can you tell? Like the Menippus, Icaromenippus, and Parasite, the Hermotimus

considers issues surrounding philosophers‘ claims to knowledge, yet its length, frequency

of Platonic allusions, and overt lack of comic references have led scholars to characterize

it as Lucian‘s most Platonic dialogue and consequently an anomaly within his corpus.74

I

will challenge this characterization by exploring how Lucian combines Platonic

references with allusions to his own work to cast the philosophical schools of his day in

the mold of Plato‘s sophists and argue against dogmatic approaches to philosophy. The

Hermotimus, as I will suggest, does in fact represent an instantiation of Lucian‘s comic

dialogues, only Lucian has replaced Old Comedy with his own works. In doing this, he

aligns his own work to that of Plato, a point further illustrated by how the figure of

Lycinus mimics the ambiguity found in Plato‘s dialogues between Plato and Socrates. As

the Hermotimus reveals, Lucian regards his work as more than the seriocomic tone

attributed to him, instead it represents his attempt to define his work as a philosophical

approach in its own right. By likening his own work to Plato‘s, Lucian, as I will contend,

74

See M. Edwards (1993:195).

219

defines his approach as a return to the Socratic method before it was taken up by the

respective schools. To achieve this, however, Lucian turns not to philosophy, which has

in his mind become corrupted, but to comedy, including Old, New, and even his own

writings.

III. Lucian Playing the Part of Philosopher: the Hermotimus

In the previous sections, we saw how Lucian tackles the sectarian debates among

philosophers largely by drawing scenarios and characters from comedy. Whereas Lucian

undermines the Cynic Menippus by borrowing scenarios from Old Comedy, in the

Parasite he specifically confronts the conflict between Stoics and Epicureans through the

figure of Simon the parasite. As a comic character turned pseudo-philosopher, Simon

highlights the absurdity of the very arguments he espouses and, consequently, embodies

Lucian‘s literary project. Lucian‘s comedic-philosophical approach, as we have seen in

the previous sections, employs comedy to highlight the problems inherent in conflicting

philosophical viewpoints. From our analysis of Lucian‘s comic dialogues in the previous

chapters, however, it is clear that Lucian envisions his project not simply as comedy put

to philosophical use but rather as the union of the comic and philosophical traditions.

Though the Menippus, Icaromenippus, and Parasite exhibit different aspects of Lucian‘s

literary style, they present only part of the picture and to understand more fully how

Lucian enacts his comedic-philosophical approach, I will conclude this chapter with a

discussion of the Hermotimus, Lucian‘s longest and most Platonic of dialogues.75

75

M. Edwards (1993:195).

220

Although the dialogue has been viewed as an anomaly in Lucian‘s corpus due to its

length, purportedly serious tone, and apparent lack of comic elements, in this section I

will show that the text refers not only to the dialogues of Plato but Lucian‘s as well and,

consequently, ascribes to the definition of the comic dialogue seen in the previous

chapters. The Hermotimus thus presents a different image of Lucian‘s comedic-

philosophical approach than the previously discussed dialogues because in it we find

Lucian‘s own work assuming the role of comedy, a shift that, as I will argue, reveals

Lucian‘s attempts to equate his own project with that of Plato.

Before turning to my analysis of this text, it will be useful to summarize briefly its

argument. The dialogue presents a discussion between the Lucianic mask, Lycinus, and

the Stoic Hermotimus, in which the former seeks to reveal how the latter‘s teacher has

taken him for the proverbial ride. Lycinus achieves this first by demonstrating to

Hermotimus that his teacher is not the virtuous figure that Hermotimus believes him to be

(9-12) and then by focusing on the larger question of whether it is possible to determine

which school to follow without studying under each of them (25-70). In considering the

latter problem, Lycinus contends that a single school, such as Stoicism, cannot be trusted

to provide an unbiased view of their rivals (33-4). He further calls into question the value

of Hermotimus‘ philosophical education by asserting that words alone are not enough to

make someone a better person, but they must be reflected in a person‘s actions (80-3).

As the discussion draws to a close, Hermotimus declares that he will abandon his

philosophical studies and that henceforth he will adopt Lycinus‘ critical stance regarding

philosophers (86).

221

The Hermotimus thus confronts scholastic disagreements and, more broadly, the

education offered by the philosophical schools of Lucian‘s time. In considering the

Hermotimus’ attacks on the philosophical schools, scholars have long noted Lucian‘s

debt to Plato‘s dialogues, while Nesselrath has pointed to similarities in arguments

between this text and the writings of Sextus Empiricus as evidence that Lucian was a

Skeptic.76

Though Nesselrath has demonstrated Lucian‘s engagement with the current

trends in Skepticism, Lucian‘s use of Platonic references in this text have not been fully

explored. My discussion will therefore show how Lucian‘s use of the Theaetetus and

Gorgias mounts a double attack on Hermotimus‘ philosophical education first by

painting him as the embodiment of Dialogue from the Twice Prosecuted and then by

likening him and his teacher to the sophists of Plato‘s dialogues. As I will argue, Lucian

first invokes the Theaetetus to characterize Hermotimus as a figure that suffers from the

same problem as Dialogue in the Twice Prosecuted: his focus on lofty topics has left him

out of touch with reality and created in him an elitist attitude. This initial portrait of

Hermotimus questions the value of Hermotimus‘ philosophical education by likening

Lycinus‘ attempts to rescue Hermotimus to Lucian‘s rehabilitation of philosophical

dialogue, indicating that, in many ways, Lycinus‘ discussion with Hermotimus is a

metaphor for Lucian‘s own project. Lucian further undermines Hermotimus‘ education

by appealing to the Gorgias, through which Lucian casts Hermotimus and his teacher in

to the role of Callicles and Gorgias respectively. As a framework for reading the

76

For a complete survey of the scholarship on this dialogue‘s debt to Plato, see Nesselrath (1992: 3451-4).

For the similarities between this dialogue and the writings of Sextus Empiricus, see Nesselrath (1992:

3474-3479).

222

Hermotimus, I will contend that the Theaetetus and Gorgias reveal Lucian‘s concern

regarding the value of a philosophical education as an attempt to align his own project

with that of Plato.

Unlike the Menippus, Icaromenippus, and Parasite, the Hermotimus engages

more directly with Plato and, as a result, it has generally been excluded from discussions

of Lucian‘s relationship to the comic tradition. Although Möllendorf has recently

uncovered several Aristophanic allusions within this text, the Hermotimus is devoid of

the type of comically inspired scenarios and characters that we have seen thus far.77

This

absence of Aristophanic features, however, does not mean that the Hermotimus is without

comic elements or that it does not fit Lucian‘s definition of his literary style in the

Literary Prometheus, Fisherman, and Twice Prosecuted. As I will suggest, Lucian

inserts several allusions to his own works, which assume the comic role in this dialogue.

Read in juxtaposition to the Platonic references, these allusions reveal that the

Hermotimus does in fact fit the model of the comic dialogue discussed in the previous

chapters, particularly in their self-referential nature, which recalls Lucian‘s imitation of

the Aristophanic parabasis discussed in the first chapter. Moreover, their presence, as I

will argue, indicates that Lucian regards his own work as playing an analogous role to

that of Old Comedy and that his comedic-philosophical approach in the Hermotimus is to

unite his own work with Plato‘s.

In aligning his work to Plato, Hermotimus becomes representative of the

contemporary philosophical approach, while Lycinus embodies Lucian‘s literary and

77

See Möllendorf (2000:210-219).

223

philosophical project. To illustrate this point, I will begin by examining how Lucian

undermines Hermotimus‘ philosophical education first with the Theaetetus and then with

the Gorgias, before exploring how this Platonic framework establishes Lycinus in the

Socratic role. As I will argue, Lucian reinforces this characterization through references

to his own work, which play with the relationship between Plato and his protagonist,

Socrates.78

In citing his work alongside that of Plato, Lucian equates his own work to

that of Plato and indicates that it is in the figure of Lycinus that we find the clearest

instantiation of the comic Socrates.

Enacting the Problems with Philosophy: the Character of Hermotimus

Hermotimus, as Lucian presents him, has spent most of his time pursuing a philosophical

education, but has learned nothing. When Lycinus first encounters him, he is lost in

thought trying to recall his teacher‘s lesson from the previous day. This opening evokes

several familiar images from Plato‘s dialogues: the fact that Lycinus meets Hermotimus

as he attempts to remember what his teacher has said calls to mind the opening of the

Phaedrus (227b-d), while Hermotimus‘ appearance of being lost in thought conjures the

image of Socrates on his way to Agathon‘s house in the Symposium (460e). Though

Plato never reveals what Socrates was thinking about, the main difference between these

moments is that Phaedrus, who possesses a written copy of his Lysias‘ speech, is faking

it. As an image that recalls both Platonic moments, Lycinus‘ initial description of

Hermotimus thus appears to question whether he will find in Hermotimus a Socratic or

78

For a discussion of this in relationship to Lucian‘s Symposium, see Branham (1989: 107-8) and

Whitmarsh (2001:252-253).

224

Phaedrus-like figure. The answer is ultimately that he is more similar to Phaedrus, since,

like Phaedrus, Hermotimus‘ judgment has been clouded by his passion for his teacher.

Lucian emphasizes this fact through Lycinus‘ initial reactions to Hermotimus, which

simultaneously recall Socrates‘ discussion of the difference between orators and

philosophers in the Theaetetus and Lucian‘s description of Dialogue in the Twice

Prosecuted. As a double reference, Lycinus‘ description of Hermotimus establishes him

as the embodiment of the challenge faced by Lucian in comically reinventing the

philosophical dialogue at the same time as it highlights his attempts to equate his own

project with that of Plato.

In his initial reaction to meeting Hermotimus, Lycinus focuses on the physical toll

that studying philosophy for over twenty years has taken on Hermotimus:

εἰ γάξ ηη κέκλεκαη, ζρεδὸλ εἴθνζηλ ἔηε ηαῦηά ἐζηηλ ἀθ‘ νὗ ζε νὐδὲλ ἄιιν

πνηνῦληα ἑώξαθα, ἢ παξὰ ηνὺο δηδαζθάινπο θνηηληα θαὶ ὡο ηὸ πνιὺ ἐο

βηβιίνλ ἐπηθεθπθόηα θαὶ ὑπνκλήκαηα ηλ ζπλνπζηλ ἀπνγξαθόκελνλ,

ὠρξὸλ ἀεὶ ὑπὸ θξνληίδσλ θαὶ ηὸ ζκα θαηεζθιεθόηα. δνθεῖο δέ κνη ἀιι‘

νὐδὲ ὄλαξ πνηὲ ἀληέλαη ζεαπηόλ, νὕησο ὅινο εἶ ἐλ ηῶ πξάγκαηη.

For if I remember, it‘s been nearly twenty-years that I have seen you do

nothing but visiting your teachers. You‘re usually bent over a book and

writing notes on the lectures, your body is always pale and withered from

studying. And I suppose even your dreams give you no rest, you are so

wrapped up in it. (Herm.2)

According to Lycinus, Hermotimus is so devoted to his studies that his body has wasted

away (ηὸ ζκα θαηεζθιεθόηα). If we recall our discussion of the Twice Prosecuted, the

Syrian describes in his defense against Dialogue‘s charges of hubris how Dialogue used

to be a genre considered by most people as obscure and in a state of decline due to

constant questioning (ὑπὸ ηλ ζπλερλ ἐξσηήζεσλ θαηεζθιεθόηα, TP 34). As in the

225

case of Dialogue, philosophy has had a harmful effect on Hermotimus and Lycinus‘

language here indicates that Hermotimus embodies the Syrian‘s problems with Dialogue.

In pitting his persona against a figure representative of the problems he has with

contemporary philosophy, Lucian presents a dialogue that enacts the comedic-

philosophical approach we saw him defend and define in the Twice Prosecuted and, in

doing so, engages directly with Plato. This is initially evident in Lycinus‘ continued

description of Hermotimus. Despite the physical toll that his education is taking on his

body, Hermotimus, as Lycinus contends, is so dedicated to his studies that he must

engage with them even in his dreams. This image of Hermotimus as thinking about

philosophy even in his dreams is reminiscent, as Möllendorf has noted, of Socrates‘

account in the Theaetetus of the difference between men of the law courts

(νἱ ἐλ δηθαζηεξίνηο) and men engaged in philosophy (νἱ ἐλ θηινζνθίᾳ, 172c). While the

former category of men are bogged down with concerns regarding the speeches they must

deliver, laws, and dinner parties, to name just a few, the philosopher is not equipped for

political life because these concerns never enter his mind, not even in a dream,

(νὐδὲ ὄλαξ πξάηηεηλ πξνζίζηαηαη αὐηνῖο, 173d).79

The connection drawn here by

Möllendorf between Lycinus‘ comment and that of Socrates allows us to read

Hermotimus as an archetypal student of philosophy. While both passages point to the

potential dreams of a philosopher, Lycinus‘ description of Hermotimus in fact represents

the opposite of what we find in the Theaetetus. For Socrates, it is the men of the law

court who are constantly thinking about things that do not even cross the mind of the

79

Möllendorf is relying on the apparatus criticus of Macleod‘s (1972) Oxford edition of the Hermotimus.

See Möllendorf (2000:151).

226

philosopher, even when he is dreaming. At first glance, then, Hermotimus appears as the

opposite of the image of a philosopher painted by Socrates.

It is important, however, also to consider the context of the Theaetetus‘

discussion. Although Socrates paints the men of the law court as corrupt to the point that

their souls are small and warped (ζκηθξνὶ δὲ θαὶ νὐθ ὀξζνὶ ηὰο ςπράο, 173a), the

philosopher appears so concerned with such topics as geometry and astronomy that he is

unaware of the problems in front of him, just as Thales was when he fell into a well --an

anecdote that directly follows the description of these two types of men (173e-b).

Hermotimus therefore straddles Socrates‘ two categories of men by the very fact that he

is busy even in his dreams and that his philosophical interests have made him, like

Dialogue and Thales, out of touch with the problems in front of him. In thus

characterizing Hermotimus, Lucian presents an embodiment of the problems attributed to

Dialogue in the Twice Dialogue and, in doing so, indicates that this text will enact how he

envisions his work as rescuing philosophy from teachers such as Hermotimus‘.

Attacking Philosophers with Philosophy: Hermotimus and his Teacher as Callicles

and Gorgias

Broadly speaking, the Hermotimus questions whether philosophers teach wisdom, which

recasts a problem familiar from Plato‘s Meno, Protagoras, and Gorgias: can abstract

ideals, such as justice and virtue, be taught? As this dialogue asserts, philosophers have

assumed the potentially dangerous role once held by the sophists in Plato‘s dialogues

through their claims to possess wisdom and be able to teach it. In his discussion of the

227

Platonic resonances in this dialogue, Nesselrath notes that Lucian‘s debt to Plato appears

in the general language of the dialogue and in direct allusions to the Ion, Euthydemus,

Phaedo, and Gorgias. 80

While Nesselrath has demonstrated the general influence of

Plato on this dialogue, I will focus specifically on how specific references to the Gorgias

characterize Hermotimus‘ teacher in a similar light to Plato‘s sophists by demonstrating

the dangerous effects that he has on his student. These references, as I will contend,

allow Lucian to establish Hermotimus and his teacher at the opening of the dialogue in

the roles of Callicles and Gorgias respectively. Though Socrates contends that Callicles‘

knowledge, good will, and frankness make him the ideal interlocutor (487a), Callicles

resists Socrates‘ arguments to the point of hostility. Lucian invokes the Gorgias to

demonstrate that Hermotimus is initially a Callicles-like figure. By characterizing

Hermotimus in this way, Lucian presents a dialogue that has the potential to recreate the

tension of the Gorgias only this time with philosophers. As we will see, however, Lucian

simultaneously refers to his own work to convince Hermotimus of the problems of a

philosophical approach such as that of his teacher. In other words, Lycinus succeeds

where Socrates fails and, in achieving this, Lucian likens his own project to that of Plato.

References to Plato‘s Gorgias equate Lycinus‘ uneasiness about Hermotimus‘

teacher and, more broadly, philosophers in general to that of Socrates regarding rhetoric

and the sophists. Generally speaking, Plato presents rhetoric and its purveyors, namely

the sophists, as a skill (ηέρλε) that is concerned with speeches that persuade people about

matters of justice and injustice based not on knowledge of these topics but belief without

80

See Nesselrath (1992: 3472-4). In addition to Nesselrath, Croiset (1882) argues for a connection to the

Ion and Gorgias (330), while Bompaire (1958) adds the Euthydemus into the mix (305).

228

knowledge.81

In the Gorgias, for example, Socrates drives the sophist to define the ηέρλε

of rhetoric as the ability to persuade assemblies and juries about what is just and unjust

(453e-457c). Though Gorgias initially asserts that the teacher of oratory must not be

blamed for the injustice of his students, he later contradicts himself when he claims to

have knowledge of justice and be able to teach it (458e-461a). As a result of this,

Gorgias abandons the discussion, which is taken up by his students, Polus and Callicles,

who argue respectively that rhetoric allows someone to do whatever they want and that

living in this way is the best. While rhetoric initially appeared as a potentially beneficial

craft, Polus and Callicles‘ resistance to Socrates reveals its sinister side. As Plato‘s

characterization of Gorgias‘ students implies, the problem with Gorgias lies in large part

with the types of students that he produces.

In our discussion of Lucian‘s reference to the Theaetetus, we saw how

Hermotimus fails to live up to Socrates‘ description of political and philosophical men.

His inability to fit the mold of either of these two types of men indicates that philosophy,

for Lucian, has become guilty of the faults once leveled at rhetoric by Plato‘s Socrates.

Lucian signals this to his audience by interspersing in the dialogue language that is

reminiscent of Plato‘s Gorgias. Lucian echoes the Gorgias largely in the reactions of his

dialogue‘s participants have to one another. Within these moments, Lycinus plays the

part of Socrates and Hermotimus that of Callicles. To review Socrates‘ interactions with

Callicles, in Callicles Socrates finds an interlocutor who is consistently unwilling to

abandon the Thrasymachean position that ―might makes right,‖ which Callicles

81

See the discussions of this found in the Gorgias and Phaedrus especially.

229

associates with rhetorical abilities. For Callicles, rhetoric is preferable to philosophy

because it can be used to acquire the practical skills necessary for public life (484c). The

dialogue, consequently, becomes quite contentious and concludes with Socrates

abandoning the discussion in frustration and instead presenting a speech concerning the

rewards and punishments of the soul in the afterlife (Gorg. 523ff.). By replacing

Callicles‘ devotion to rhetoric with Hermotimus‘ to philosophy, Lucian indicates in this

dialogue that the problems he finds with the way philosophy is practiced in his day are

analogous to those cited by Socrates regarding rhetoric.

Lucian‘s use of ―Gorgian‖ language in the Hermotimus –to borrow a term from

the Symposium (198c) — has a double effect: it points to the potential of this dialogue to

become combative and suggests that the philosophical teachings of Hermotimus‘ teacher

may have produced a problematic student similar to Callicles. Lucian hints at the

possibility of the dialogue losing its amicable tone early in the discussion, when Lycinus

questions Hermotimus about his choice of Stoicism over other schools. In response to

Lycinus‘ question, Hermotimus asserts that he was drawn to Stoicism because it was the

most popular school.82

When Lycinus asks if he came to this conclusion by taking a head

count, Hermotimus replies that his belief was based on an estimate, leading Lycinus to

respond that Hermotimus is not in a position to instruct him: ὡο νὐθ ἐζέιεηο δηδάμαη κε

ἀιι‘ ἐμαπαηᾶο, ὃο πεξὶ ηλ ηνηνύησλ εἰθαζκῶ θὴο θαὶ πιήζεη θξῖλαη ἀπνθξππηόκελνο

ιέγεηλ πξόο κε ηἀιεζέο. (So you don‘t want to teach me but are cheating me, when you

tell me you decide such a matter by guesswork and weight of numbers. You‘re hiding

82

For a discussion of the popularity of Stoicism during the second century CE, see Long (1974: 233-235).

230

the truth from me, Herm. 16). In his discussion of the Platonic resonances of this

dialogue, Nesselrath notes that Lycinus‘ charge of deception against Hermotimus

(ἐμαπαηᾶο) echoes the charge that Socrates directs at Callicles (ἐμαπαηλ, 499c).

Lycinus‘ assertion that Hermotimus is attempting to cheat him thus creates the potential

scenario here in the opening sections of the dialogue that Hermotimus will play the role

of the resistant interlocutor represented by Callicles. Lucian, however, has updated the

Gorgias’ scenario for a second century audience by replacing the tension between

rhetoric and philosophy with the problem of sectarian debates. By recasting Plato‘s

original context in this way, Lucian has put forth his unified comedic-philosophical

approach as an alternative to the corrupted philosophical schools.

This possibility for hostility recurs at several points throughout the dialogue. For

example, while Lycinus elicits the concession from Hermotimus that in order to know

which school to choose one must study each of them, it becomes apparent that a careful

study of each approach would exceed the limits of a human life span. Without this

careful study, as Lycinus contends, people are left in the dark, taking up whatever they

first stumble upon and completely unable to recognize the truth (Herm. 49). As this

image suggests, the philosophical schools with their varying viewpoints cause ignorance

and, although Hermotimus does not deny Lycinus‘ point, he expresses annoyance that

Lycinus has questioned the value of a philosophical education: ὦ Λπθῖλε,

νὐθ νἶδα ὅπσο εὔινγα κὲλ δνθεῖο κνη ιέγεηλ, ἀηάξ—εἰξήζεηαη γὰξ ηἀιεζέο—νὐ

κεηξίσο ἀληᾶο κε δηεμηὼλ αὐηὰ θαὶ ἀθξηβνινγνύκελνο νὐδὲλ δένλ. (I feel, Lycinus, that

what you say is reasonable, but –and I shall be honest— you annoy me a great deal by

231

this detailed examination and your unnecessary precision. Herm. 50). For Möllendorf,

Hermotimus‘ exasperation with Lycinus mimics that expressed by Callicles in response

to Socrates‘ assertion that Callicles should not imitate those who seek out power (Gorg.

511d-513c): Οὐθ νἶδ‘ ὅληηλά κνη ηξόπνλ δνθεῖο εὖ ιέγεηλ, ὦ Σώθξαηεο, πέπνλζα δὲ ηὸ

ηλ πνιιλ πάζνο· νὐ πάλπ ζνη πείζνκαη, (I don‘t know, Socrates –in a way you seem

to be right, but the thing that happens to most people has happened to me: I‘m not really

persuaded by you. 513c).83

In his recasting of Callicles‘ exasperation with the Socratic

method, Lucian ironically presents the philosophical student as annoyed with Lycinus‘

philosophical approach as it is enacted in his questioning of the schools.

Like Callicles, who is a failed student, Hermotimus is also revealed to be a failure

as a philosopher because of his exasperation with Lycinus‘ questions and overall inability

to answer them. Although he accepts that the proper way to choose a philosophical

approach is to study them all, Hermotimus asserts that Lycinus has concocted this

argument out of jealousy of his success (Herm. 63). Despite the fact that Lycinus asserts

that, if this is the case, Hermotimus should ignore him, Hermotimus retorts that Lycinus

is so forceful that he does not let him make any choice at all, ( Ἀιι‘ νὐθ ἐᾶο ζὺ βίαηνο ὢλ

αἱξεῖζζαί ηη, ἢλ κὴ πεηξαζ ἁπάλησλ. Herm. 63). We find Callicles leveling a similar

charge at Socrates in section 505d: Ὡο βίαηνο εἶ, ὦ Σώθξαηεο. ἐὰλ δὲ ἐκνὶ πείζῃ,

ἐάζεηο ραίξεηλ ηνῦηνλ ηὸλ ιόγνλ, ἢ θαὶ ἄιιῳ ηῳ δηαιέμῃ. (How forceful you are,

Socrates, but if you‘ll obey me, you‘ll drop this discussion or carry it through with

83

Möllendorf (2000:171).

232

someone else).84

As we have seen thus far, Lucian at times attributes to Hermotimus

language that is reminiscent of Plato‘s portrayal of Callicles. Like Callicles, Hermotimus

appears unwilling to give up his lifestyle, despite the fact that Lycinus has revealed to

him that his love of Stoicism is in fact based on ignorance and arbitrary. Lucian‘s use of

the Gorgias opens up the possibility for the Hermotimus to end in a similarly hostile way.

Whereas Socrates calls into question Callicles‘ love of the rhetorical lifestyle and

the power he believes comes with it, Lycinus undermines Hermotimus‘ passion for

philosophy and its image as an elitist pursuit, suggesting that philosophy has taken on the

potentially problematic role once afforded to rhetoric by Plato. Although Hermotimus is

initially resistant to this point, he eventually concedes it as he bemoans to Lycinus the

fact that he has wasted his life: νἷά κε εἰξγάζσ, ὦ Λπθῖλε, ἄλζξαθάο κνη ηὸλ ζεζαπξὸλ

ἀπνθήλαο, θαὶ ὡο ἔνηθελ ἀπνιεῖηαί κνη ηὰ ηνζαῦηα ἔηε θαὶ ὁ θάκαηνο ὁ πνιύο. (Look at

what you‘ve done to me, Lycinus. You have shown my treasure to be nothing more than

ashes and I seem to have wasted so many years and so much toil, 71). In response to

Hermotimus‘ despondency, Lycinus suggests that he is not alone in failing to find the

knowledge he thought he would find in philosophy: ἀιι‘, ὦ ξκόηηκε, πνιὺ ἔιαηηνλ

ἀληάζῃ, ἢλ ἐλλνήζῃο ὅηη νὐ κόλνο ἔμσ κέλεηο ηλ ἐιπηζζέλησλ ἀγαζλ, ἀιιὰ πάληεο ὡο

ἔπνο εἰπεῖλ πεξὶ ὄλνπ ζθηο κάρνληαη νἱ θηινζνθνῦληεο. (But, Hermotimus, you will be

much less hurt if you remember that you are not the only one excluded from these desired

blessings, but all who engage in philosophy, so to speak, are fighting over the shadow of

an ass, 71). Lycinus‘ account of philosophers here is significant since it suggests that they

84

Möllendorf (2000: 171). See also Nesselrath (1992: 2472-2473).

233

do not know what they think they know and, what is more, they fight over something that

is not worth fighting for.

This image of philosophers fighting over the shadow of an ass simultaneously

evokes Aristophanes‘ Wasps and Plato‘s Phaedrus.85

In the Wasps, this image appears in

the context of Philocleon‘s attempts to escape the house arrest of his son by hiding

himself, like Odysseus, under the belly of an ass, 170ff). This trick fails and Philocleon

proclaims that he will sue and, when asked what the suit will be about, (πεξὶ ηνῦ καρεῖ

λῶλ δῆηα), he responds that it will be πεξὶ ὄλνπ ζθηο (191). The joke here is

presumably that Philocleon has been given away by his shadow, which, in the context of

Lucian‘s dialogue, points once again to the fact that philosophers are fighting over what

is not really real. They have, as it were, seen only a shadow of the wisdom they claim to

possess. Moreover, as a backdrop to Lycinus‘ characterization of philosophy,

Philocleon‘s statement likens Lycinus‘ philosophical quarrels to the type of petty legal

cases depicted by Aristophanes in the Wasps that Philocleon is so eager to take part in.

While the Hermotimus does not draw on Aristophanes as much as other

dialogues, in this moment we find Lucian evoking an image found in both Aristophanic

comedy and Platonic Dialogue. Besides appearing in the Wasps, Socrates also refers to

the shadow of an ass during his discussion of the art of rhetoric at the end of the

Phaedrus.86

As Socrates and Phaedrus attempt to determine whether a speaker must have

knowledge of what is just or he must simply know enough to make something seem just

85

Möllendorf (2000: 179). 86

It is difficult to say whether Plato here alludes to the Wasps. This is not a common phrase, appearing

initially in Aristophanes, then the Phaedrus, as well as Galen and Pausanias in addition to Lucian.

234

to his audience, Socrates offers the following analogy: a speaker, who does not know

what a horse is, addresses an audience that is likewise ignorant of horses and attempts to

convince them that they should fight on horseback, based only on the knowledge that his

audience believes a horse to be a tame animal with the longest ears. The speaker, as

Socrates supposes, would deceive his audience by praising a donkey and suggesting that

it is of great military value (260a-b). For Socrates, this scenario is analogous to a speaker

who lacks knowledge of what is good and what is bad:

ὅηαλ νὖλ ὁ ῥεηνξηθὸο ἀγλνλ ἀγαζὸλ θαὶ θαθόλ, ιαβὼλ πόιηλ ὡζαύησο

ἔρνπζαλ πείζῃ, κὴ πεξὶ ὄλνπ ζθηο ὡο ἵππνπ ηὸλ ἔπαηλνλ πνηνύκελνο,

ἀιιὰ πεξὶ θαθνῦ ὡο ἀγαζνῦ, δόμαο δὲ πιήζνπο κεκειεηεθὼο πείζῃ

θαθὰ πξάηηεηλ ἀλη‘ ἀγαζλ, πνῖόλ ηηλ‘ ἂ<λ> νἴεη κεηὰ ηαῦηα ηὴλ

ῥεηνξηθὴλ θαξπὸλ ὧλ ἔζπεηξε ζεξίδεηλ;

So suppose an orator who doesn‘t know about good and bad gains power

in a city which is in the same state of ignorance and tries to persuade it,

not by eulogizing some miserable donkey as if it were a horse, but by

making bad seem good. Suppose he‘s carefully studied the opinions of the

masses and succeeds in persuading them to act badly instead as well, what

kind of crop do you think rhetoric would later harvest from the seeds it set

about sowing? (Phaedrus 260c)

According to Socrates here, a lack of knowledge about good and bad on the part of both

speaker and audience can result in persuasion being used for evil purposes. Socrates‘ use

of this image thus reveals to Phaedrus the dangers of rhetoric if the speaker does not in

fact have knowledge about what he is talking about, and we can see Lycinus invoking it

for a similar purpose in terms of philosophers. For Lycinus, philosophers who do not

possess the wisdom that they claim to have can lead their eager students, such as

Hermotimus, down a wrong and potentially dangerous path. Whereas for Socrates the

dangers of rhetoric expressed in this passage are public, Lycinus‘ fears concerning

235

philosophy are directed at the individual in the form of Hermotimus. Like Socrates‘

imagined speaker, the philosophers of this text do not know what they claim to teach and

through this false knowledge lead students, such as Hermotimus, into devoting their

money and time to them. This transfer of Socrates‘ original concerns to philosophy

indicates that within Lucian‘s dialogues philosophers have assumed the role once held by

sophists. Similar to the sophists found in Plato‘s dialogues, they are dangerous, they

mislead their students by promising to teach them wisdom and they create students such

as Hermotimus, who has wasted over twenty-years of his life with little to show for his

efforts.

As a whole, this image also recalls Socrates‘ metaphor of the cave, whose bound

inhabitants are only able to see shadows on a wall (νἴεη ἄλ ηη ἑσξαθέλαη ἄιιν πιὴλ ηὰο

ζθηὰο ηὰο ὑπὸ ηνῦ ππξὸο εἰο ηὸ θαηαληηθξὺ αὐηλ ηνῦ ζπειαίνπ πξνζπηπηνύζαο;

Republic 515a).87

In Socrates‘ metaphor, however, only the philosopher is able to see the

true Form and Lucian has reversed Socrates‘ image to suggest that philosophers are in

fact still stuck in the cave, whereas he sees the truth. While in the previous section we

saw how Lucian used the quarrels of philosophers to explore his relationship to

Menippus, here Lycinus invokes the lack of agreement among philosophers to reveal to

Hermotimus that his teacher does not actually possess the wisdom he claims to teach and,

moreover, he is not in fact searching for it.

87

Besides the Aristophanic and Platonic resonances, this image is also attributed to Demosthenes in the

Lexixcon on the Ten Attic Orators by Harpocration, (Περὶ τῆς ἐν Δελυοῖς σκιᾶς: Δεκνζζέλεο

Φηιηππηθνῖο. Δίδπκόο θεζη ηὴλ πεξὶ ὄλνπ ζθηο παξνηκίαλ παξαπεπνηῆζζαη ὑπὸ ηνῦ ῥήηνξν ο

ιέγνληνο πεξὶ ηῆο ἐλ Δειθνῖο ζθηο, ιέγεζζαη δ‘ αὐηὴλ ἐπὶ ηνῖο πεξὶ ηλ κεδελὸο ἀμίσλ καρνκέλνηο, 246).

236

As we have seen so far, Lucian inserts language that is reminiscent of Socrates‘

discussions of rhetoric at several points throughout this dialogue that attributes to

philosophy the role once held by rhetoric in Plato‘s dialogues. Though it is difficult to

generalize about the portrait of rhetoric found in Plato‘s dialogues, many of the

discussions of it come back to the same point: whether the speaker must have knowledge

of such topics as Justice and Virtue. From Plato‘s ambiguous views regarding the role of

rhetoric, we find Lucian establishing a paradigm for his approach to the philosophical

practices of his day. While some, such as Jones, have regarded the Hermotimus as

evidence of Lucian‘s rejection of philosophy and others, for example Nesselrath, have

pointed to it as proof that Lucian was a Skeptic, these Platonic references bear witness to

the fact that he does not reject all philosophy and knowledge but rather the current

atmosphere of the philosophical schools.88

As he explains to the downtrodden

Hermotimus, his arguments against the Stoics are not based on any particular hatred for

them and could be applied to all the schools, (κή κε λνκίζῃο θαηὰ ηῆο Σηνο

παξεζθεπαζκέλνλ ἢ ἔρζξαλ ηηλὰ ἐμαίξεηνλ πξὸο Σηστθνὺο ἐπαλῃξεκέλνλ εἰξεθέλαη, ἀιι

ὰ θνηλὸο ἐπὶ πάληαο ὁ ιόγνο, 85). This implies that Lucian views his work as separate

from these philosophical schools. Moreover, Lucian‘s failure to fit the mold of a Cynic,

Skeptic, or Epicurean derives from this rejection and while he bears certain affinities to

Cynicism and Skepticism, this is because he sees his own novel approach, namely the

comic dialogue, as functioning within that tradition. As illustration of this point, I will

now examine how Lucian incorporates allusions to his own works alongside the

88

See Jones (1986: 13-14), Hall (1981:156), and Nesselrath (1992: 3474-3479). For a survey of Lucian‘s

treatment of the different philosophical schools, see Dolcetti‘s 1998 article.

237

previously discussed Platonic ones. These self-allusions, as I will suggest, cast Lycinus

as Lucian‘s Socratic persona and reveal Lucian‘s attempts to equate his comic dialogues

with the dialogues of Plato.

Lycinus as Socrates

In the exchanges between Hermotimus and Lycinus, Hermotimus at times

assumes a Callicles-like role, which casts Lycinus as the Socratic figure. As Branham

has noted, the persona of Lycinus is the most pervasive of those adopted by Lucian,

appearing in On Images, the Dance, the Lexiphanes, the Ship, the Eunuch, and the

Symposium.89

Although these dialogues differ greatly in subject matter, many of them

are connected by the fact that the focus of the dialogue, as in the Hermotimus, is the

interlocutor.90

In addition to the Hermotimus, several of these texts represent clear

imitations of Plato‘s dialogues. As Branham asserts, ―no work entitled the Symposium

could help recalling Plato‘s masterpiece to a second-century audience.‖91

Moreover, the

Ship opens with Lycinus and his companions walking to the Pireaus, an opening that

directly recalls that of the Republic. In Plato‘s dialogues, it is often difficult to separate

Plato‘s voice from that of Socrates and in the case of these dialogues it is no different.

Lucian has created a persona, whose name is only slightly different from his own, a

89

See Branham (1989: 105-6), as well as Saïd (1993:254). 90

Branham (1989: 105-6). See also Whitmarsh (2001: 253). 91

Branham (1989: 108).

238

difference that suggests that Lucian intends to maintain some distance, if even only a

small amount, between himself and the character Lycinus. 92

In his discussion of Lucian‘s imitation of the Plato-Socrates relationship,

Branham asserts that Lycinus is not the ―embodiment of a rival idea or serious moralist‖

that we find in Plato‘s Socrates, but instead is ―viciously censorious.‖93

As we have seen

thus far, Socrates is an important model for Lucian but not just in the form portrayed by

Plato. The comic image of him is important as well. In contrast to Branham‘s

interpretation of Lycinus, I will suggest that Lycinus‘ failure to correspond to the Platonic

Socrates stems from the fact that he draws as well on the comic Socrates and thus

represents the embodiment of Lucian‘s literary project. Within the context of the

Hermotimus, Lucian signals this fact through the inclusion of references to the

Philopseudes, his own Symposium, and the Fisherman. These references, as I will argue,

further the ambiguity between Lucian and his persona and suggest that it is in the figure

of Lycinus that we find Lucian‘s comic Socrates. Found alongside Platonic allusions,

they assume a role similar to that of Old and New Comedy in the Parasite and

―Menippean‖ dialogues.

In the Fisherman and ―Menippean‖ dialogues we saw that Lucian‘s use of Old

Comedy cast the figures of Diogenes and Menippus as Old Comic characters

respectively. Lucian likewise questions the value of Hermotimus‘ teacher and the

philosophical approach through two references to the Philopseudes and Symposium

92

For an in-depth discussion of the various ways in which Lucian inserts himself into a text, see Saïd

(1993). 93

Branham (1989: 107).

239

respectively. Though Hermotimus initially attempts to escape Lycinus‘ questioning by

claiming that he must get to school, Lycinus reveals that class has been canceled due to a

raucous drinking party the previous night:

ἐιέγεην δὲ παξ‘ Εὐθξάηεη ηῶ πάλπ δεηπλήζαο ρζὲο γελέζιηα ζπγαηξὸο

ἑζηηληη πνιιά ηε ζπκθηινζνθῆζαη ἐλ ηῶ ζπκπνζίῳ θαὶ πξὸο

Εὐζύδεκνλ ηὸλ ἐθ ηνῦ Πεξηπάηνπ παξνμπλζῆλαί ηη θαὶ ἀκθηζβεηῆζαη αὐη

ῶ πεξὶ ὧλ ἐθεῖλνη εἰώζαζηλ ἀληηιέγεηλ ηνῖο ἀπὸ ηῆο Σηνο.

They said that he [Hermotimus‘ teacher] had dinner yesterday at the house

of the great Eucrates, who was throwing a party for his daughter‘s

birthday. He talked a lot of philosophy during the party and grew cross

with Euthydemus the Peripatetic, disputing their usual arguments against

the Stoics. (11)

As the setting of this dinner party, the house of Eucrates recalls the Philopseudes, a

dialogue between Tychiades and his companion, Philocles, in which the former relates a

discussion concerning the supernatural that took place at the house of Eucrates

(Philopseudes 5). 94

Tychiades‘ purpose in relating the ghost stories told by Eucrates and

his guests is to highlight for Philocles the propensity of people to lie. As the only other

text in which a character by the name of Eucrates figures, it is possible to read the context

of the Philopseudes behind Lycinus‘ dinner party, thus undermining the respect

Hermotimus expresses for his teacher.

Upon hearing that his teacher attended a party with other philosophers,

Hermotimus asks Lycinus to tell him the outcome of his teacher‘s argument with

Euthydemus. Instead of relating their discussion, however, Lycinus recounts how the

party disintegrated into violence:

94

Möllendorf contends that Lucian here is using this name for two purposes: 1) the name, which is derived

from the adjective eukratos or well-mixed, recalls the sympotic context and 2) it is intended to invoke the

bridegroom in Lucian‘s Symposium Eukritos, (2000: 154-55).

240

ηὰ κὲλ πξηά θαζηλ, ὦ ξκόηηκε, ἀγρώκαια ζθίζη γελέζζαη, ηὸ δ‘ νὖλ

ηέινο ηῆο λίθεο θαζ‘ὑκο ἐγέλεην θαὶ παξὰ πνιὺ ὁ πξεζβύηεο ὑπεξέζρε.

ηὸλ γνῦλ Εὐζύδεκνλ νὐδὲ ἀλαηκσηί θαζηλ ἀπειζεῖλ, ἀιιὰ ηξαῦκα πακκέγ

εζεο ἔρνληα ἐλ ηῇ θεθαιῇ.ἐπεὶ γὰξ ἀιαδὼλ ἦλ θαὶ ἐιεγθηηθὸο θαὶ πείζεζζα

η ὁ δηδάζθαιόο ζνπ ὁ βέιηηζηνο ὃλ εἶρε ζθύθνλ νὐθ ἤζειελ νὐδὲ παξεῖρε

ῥᾴδηνλ αὑηὸλ ἐιέγρεζζαη, Νεζηόξεηόλ ηηλα θαηαθέξεη αὐηνῦ πιεζίνλ

θαηαθεηκέλνπ, θαὶ νὕησο ἐθξάηεζελ.

At first, it seems, they were level, but in the end victory was on the side of

you Stoics, and the old man was well in front. At any rate they say that

Euthydemus didn‘t get away unscathed: he was badly wounded in the

head. You see he was pretentious and argumentative and wouldn‘t be

convinced and didn‘t show himself ready to take criticism, so your

excellent teacher hit him with a cup as big as Nestor‘s which he had in his

he was lying quite near him), and so he won. (12)

The image drawn here of a violent symposium recalls Lucian‘s own Symposium, which

depicts how a wedding feast involving philosophers from each of the schools erupts in a

violent fight.95

Unlike Plato‘s Symposium, which, until Alcibiades‘ entrance, is dry and

civilized, Lucian‘s text portrays philosophers drinking and quarreling over who gets the

biggest piece of meat, in other words, philosophers at their worst. Although all the

philosophers are generally portrayed as combative, one of the main aggressors is the

Stoic Zenothemis, who, at the end of the dialogue hurls a bowl at his host, only to miss

and hit the bridegroom (Symp. 44). Like Zenothemis, Hermotimus‘ teacher is portrayed

as aggressive to the point of violence, similarly striking the head of Euthydemus with a

cup. The world of Lucian‘s Symposium and, for that matter, the one related by Lycinus,

consequently appears more akin to the raucous Alcibiades than the discussion that

preceded his entrance. Read as the backdrop for Lycinus‘ tale, Lucian‘s Symposium

95

See Nesselrath (1992: 3459) and Möllendorf (2000: 155).

241

effectively paints a negative picture of Hermotimus‘ teacher and further calls into

question the value of his teachings.

Besides using these Lucianic references to reveal the true nature of Hermotimus‘

teacher, Lucian has Lycinus turn again to his own work as he attempts to show the

inherent difficulties of trying to determine which philosophical school to follow:

ἐπεὶ θέξε, εἰ θαζάπεξ λῦλ ἔρσ, ἀγλνλ ἔηη ὅζηηο ἐμ ἁπάλησλ ἐζηὶλ ὁ ἀιεζ

εύσλ, ἑινίκελ ηὰ ὑκέηεξα ζνὶ πηζηεύζαο, ἀλδξὶ θίιῳ, ἀηὰξ κόλα

γε ηὰ ηλ Σηστθλ εἰδόηη θαὶ κίαλ ὁδὸλ ὁδνηπνξήζαληη ηαύηελ·

ἔπεηηα ζελ ηηο ἀλαβηλαη πνηήζεηε Πιάησλα θαὶ Ππζαγόξαλ θαὶ Ἀξηζην

ηέιελ θαὶ ηνὺο ἄιινπο, νἱ δὲ πεξηζηάληεο ἐξσηῶέλ κε ἢ θαὶ λὴ Δί‘ ἐο

δηθαζηήξηνλ ἀγαγόληεο ὕβξεσο ἕθαζηνο δηθάδνηλην ιέγνληεο, Ὦ βέιηηζηε

Λπθῖλε, ηί παζὼλ ἢ ηίλη πνηὲ πηζηεύζαο Χξύζηππνλ θαὶ Ζήλσλα

πξνεηίκεζαο ἡκλ, πξεζβπηέξσλ ὄλησλ παξὰ πνιύ, ρζὲο θαὶ πξῴελ

γελνκέλνπο, κήηε ιόγνπ κεηαδνὺο ἡκῖλ κήηε πεηξαζεὶο ὅισο ὧλ θακέλ;

Come now, suppose that I, just as I am, still ignorant about which of them

all has the truth, should choose your way, putting my trust in you, a friend,

but one who knows only the way of the Stoics and has travelled by this

road along; then suppose one of the gods brought Plato, Pythagoras,

Aristotle, and the rest back to life, and they stood round me and put

questions to me, or even, by Zeus, brought me into court and sued me each

and every one of them for maltreatment, saying: ―My good Lycinus what

was the matter with you? Who persuaded you to give Chrysippus and

Zeno preference over us, who are older by far than they? They were born

only yesterday, or the day before, and you have given us no chance to

speak, and you have put nothing of what we say to the test.‖ (30)

This scenario of dead philosophers returning to life to attack Lycinus for his

philosophical approach directly recalls the Fisherman.96

Whereas in the Fisherman

Parrhesiades found himself in legal troubles due to his comic portrayal of philosophers,

here it is Hermotimus‘ choice of Stoicism and overall ignorance regarding other, older

philosophical approaches that has potentially angered the philosophical tradition.

96

See Nesselrath (1992:3473) and Möllendorf (2000: 165).

242

Lycinus thus adopts the scenario of the Fisherman to charge that Hermotimus‘

philosophical education is at odds with the philosophical tradition. Unable to defend

himself against this charge, Hermotimus begs Lycinus to abandon this imagined scenario:

ὦ Λπθῖλε, πξὸο ηῆο ζηίαο, Πιάησλα κὲλ θαὶ Ἀξηζηνηέιελ θαὶ

πίθνπξνλ θαὶ ηνὺο ἄιινπο ἀηξεκεῖλ ἐάζσκελ· νὐ γὰξ θαη‘ ἐκὲ

ἀληαγσλίδεζζαη αὐηνῖο. λὼ δέ, ἐγώ ηε θαὶ ζύ, ἐθ‘ ἡκλ αὐηλ

ἐμεηάζσκελ, εἰ ηνηνῦηόλ ἐζηη ηὸ θηινζνθίαο πξγκα νἷνλ ἐγώ θεκη

αὐηὸ εἶλαη.

In Hestia‘s name, Lycinus, let us leave Plato and Aristotle and Epicurus

and the others undisturbed, for I am no match for them. Let us, you and

me, enquire into it by ourselves, whether the pursuit of philosophy is as I

say it is. (35)

In the context of the Fisherman, Parrhesiades escaped the charges of the dead

philosophers by turning to Old Comedy and proving its philosophical value.

Hermotimus, on the other hand, faces charges of ignorance, which he is unable to escape

without Lycinus‘ help. This reference to the Fisherman thus once again presents us with

an instance of Lucian‘s union of comedy and philosophy, but shifts its focus from

defining Lucian‘s approach to enacting it. By raising philosophers from the dead here,

Lucian draws a comparison between his persona, Parrhesiades, who successfully warded

off their attacks through a reliance on Old Comedy, and Hermotimus, whose inability to

answer their charges reveals the extent to which his philosophical education has failed

him.

Whereas in the Fisherman the dead philosophers charged Parrhesiades with

comically degrading philosophy, Lycinus here invokes their voices to reveal to

Hermotimus his ignorance. This change in the philosophers‘ charge recasts a scenario,

which initially served as a platform for Lucian to defend and define his comic approach

243

to philosophy as an important philosophical tool by which Lycinus can reveal to

Hermotimus the error of his ways. The character of Lycinus, whose name is only

slightly different from Lucian‘s represents, as Saïd has noted, a thin authorial mask.97

As

an image evocative of the Fisherman, Lycinus‘ raising of dead philosophers, a situation

that evokes the Fisherman, combined with his account of the previous night‘s symposium

furthers this connection and suggests that this persona represents Lucian‘s enactment of

his union of comedy and philosophy. Lycinus invokes Lucian‘s own dialogues to convey

to Hermotimus why his choice of teachers is problematic.

In considering Hermotimus‘ portrayal of conflicting philosophical viewpoints, I

have attempted to demonstrate first how Lucian uses Platonic echoes to cast Hermotimus

as a potentially hostile interlocutor such as Callicles and Lycinus in the Socratic role. As

a Socratic figure, Lycinus does not simply represent Lucian‘s imitation of Plato‘s

protagonist, but rather, as several references to other Lucianic works reveal, he embodies

Lucian‘s own project. The Hermotimus thus differs from what we saw in the two

―Menippean‖ dialogues and the Parasite in its overall lack of features borrowed from

Greek comedy. Though this lack of comic features has led scholars to characterize this

dialogue as an anomaly within Lucian‘s corpus, it is my contention that the references to

the Philopseudes, Symposium, and Fisherman represent the comic aspects of this

dialogue. Despite the fact that they are not as pervasive as what we have previously seen,

Lycinus nonetheless uses them to undermine Hermotimus‘ preconceived notions

regarding philosophy. In the previous chapters, we saw how Lucian presented himself as

97

Saïd (1993:254).

244

the successor to Old Comedy by adopting its language and scenarios in his engagement

with the philosophical tradition. The Hermotimus, in comparison, invokes Lucian‘s own

works in place of Aristophanic references, thus proclaiming Lucian‘s position as a

member of the comic tradition. As this text reveals, Lucian views his texts as assuming

the role once played by Aristophanes and the other poets of Old Comedy. Moreover, in

citing his own works, Lucian draws a further connection between himself and his persona

and suggests that he is playing the role of both Plato and Socrates. This conflation of

author and character draws our focus to him and reinforces the view seen in the previous

chapters that he regards his union of comedy and philosophy as a kind of philosophical

approach.

IV. Conclusions

By examining three different instantiations of the same problem, namely philosophers in

conflict, I have attempted to show how Lucian both defines his comedic-philosophic

approach as separate from the established approaches and offers it as a solution to the

philosophical corruption he sees plaguing his own time. This rejection of a

philosophical label is evidenced by Lucian‘s treatment of Menippus, a potential foil for

his own project, in the Menippus and Icaromenippus. As we saw in our discussion of

these dialogues, Lucian casts the Cynic as a comic character within the larger framework

of a dialogue designed to explore the merits of his philosophical approach. From this

interaction of comic and philosophical elements, Lucian paints a picture of Menippus as

failing to answer the questions he poses and ultimately unsatisfactory model for his own

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approach. In contrast to Menippus‘ failures as a philosopher, the Parasite casts the comic

parasite in the role of a pseudo-philosopher, who, as I argued, embodies the conflict

between the Stoics and Epicureans and consequently an instantiation of Lucian‘s

comedic-philosophic approach. Through Simon, Lucian characterizes such conflicts as

ridiculous and in doing so, offers his own work up as the solution to this problem. We

find this point repeated in the Hermotimus, only this time in terms borrowed from the

Theaetetus and Gorgias. References to these dialogues have the effect of casting

Hermotimus first as the embodiment of the out of touch and elitist approach we saw

presented in the figure of Dialogue from the Twice Prosecuted and then as the failed

student, Callicles. These Platonic resonances cast the philosophers of Lucian‘s day in the

mold of Plato‘s sophists and consequently align Lucian‘s project with Plato‘s.

Intertwined with these references, however, are also allusions to Lucian‘s own work that

allow Lucian to position his own literary and philosophical project not just in terms of

Plato, but the comedic tradition as well. By citing his own works in this text, Lucian

announces that they have assumed the role of Old Comedy for the second century.

Combined with the discussions of his hybrid genre discussed in the previous two

chapters, these three texts bear witness to the fact that Lucian‘s comic dialogues are more

than the ―seriocomic‖ tone that has been attributed to him by Branham. As I have

argued, it is a fluid genre that is not restricted to a single form and represents Lucian‘s

attempt to define a philosophical project for himself both in terms of the literary tradition

and the trends of his day. In the next chapter, we will examine how this comedic-

philosophical approach is enacted in Lucian‘s Nigrinus, a text that is only partially a

246

dialogue. Generally read as one of Lucian‘s few positive portraits of a philosopher, I will

argue that recognition of the comedic and philosophical elements at play in this text

reveals Lucian‘s portrait to be critical of the philosopher. The Nigrinus will thus be

significant for our discussion in that it will reveal the approach embodied in Lucian‘s

comic dialogues not to be restricted to works written in the dialogue format.

247

Chapter 4

The Philosopher and the Comic Writer:

Nigrinus as an Example of a Failed Philosopher

In the previous chapter, we studied how Lucian tackles the problem of conflicting schools

through three different instantiations of the comic dialogue form: a philosopher cast in

the role of a comic figure in the Menippus and Icaromenippus, a comic character depicted

as a philosopher in the Parasite, and Lucian himself adopting the role of philosopher in

the Hermotimus. These dialogues are significant for our discussion because they reveal

the fluidity with which Lucian approaches the comic elements of his literary style.

Whereas in the first half of this dissertation our focus was mainly on Lucian‘s imitation

of different aspects of Old Comedy (specifically Aristophanic comedy), these texts

illustrate how Lucian‘s comic dialogues draw on Hellenistic forms of comedy and, in the

case of the Hermotimus, Lucian‘s own works to achieve a similar effect. By invoking his

own dialogues in the place of his comic precedents, Lucian declares that his comic

dialogues are the heir to the comic tradition. In this chapter we will shift gears to

examine a single text, the Nigrinus, a work that is not typically included among Lucian‘s

comic dialogues but nonetheless contains both Aristophanic and Platonic language. Read

in light of Lucian‘s theoretical accounts of his literary style, I will argue that the Nigrinus

demonstrates that Lucian‘s union of Old Comedy and Platonic dialogue is not restricted

248

to a specific generic form but describes his overall philosophical approach as a return to

Socratic questioning in its purest form.

Framed as a letter from Lucian to the Roman philosopher Nigrinus, the Nigrinus

presents a dialogue between an unnamed speaker, a student of Nigrinus, and his

companion. The Student relates a long speech of Nigrinus contrasting the philosophical

life of Athens to the depravity of life in Rome.1 According to the Student, Nigrinus

represents the ideal Platonic philosopher who has opened his eyes to the ills of Roman

society.2 Yet, as Hall notes, ―if Lucian did not tell us that Nigrinus was a Platonist, we

would never have guessed,‖ 3

since Nigrinus‘ speech has more in common with Roman

satire and Greek diatribe than anything found in Plato‘s dialogues.4 This then begs the

question of how we should view the philosopher Nigrinus. Despite this incongruity

between Nigrinus‘ Platonic label and speech, most scholars have interpreted him and,

consequently, the text as a whole as a serious honorific portrait of the philosopher. Clay,

for example, goes so far as to assert that ―conceivably, Eunapius of Sardis had the

1 The participants in the dialogue are unnamed. I will refer to the main speaker as the Student and the other

speaker as his friend. 2 In the past, scholars have attempted to identify Nigrinus as a real philosopher, yet there has been no

definitive connection between Nigrinus and a known contemporary philosopher. See in particular Baldwin

(1973) and Tarrant (1985). For my discussion of the text, Nigrinus need not be a real person, but rather

represents a character type, similar to other portrayals of fake philosophers found elsewhere in Lucian‘s

works. 3 Hall (1981: 157).

4 Clay (1992:3423). While Hall does not specifically point to the similarities between Nigrinus‘ speech and

Roman satire, she does not that the points made in the speech were ―moral commonplaces‖ (Hall 1981:

157).

249

‗Nigrinus‘ in mind when he refers to Lucian‘s ‗Demonax‘ as one of the satirist‘s few

serious writings.‖5

Though Clay and others would like to include the Nigrinus in Eunapius‘

statement, Lucian‘s accounts of his literary style, which we discussed in the first half of

this dissertation, should put us on our guard against reading the Nigrinus as an overtly

serious work. For example, as we saw in the Literary Prometheus, Lucian attributes the

significance of his literary achievement not simply to the fact that he brought comedy and

dialogue together, but rather that he created a harmonious union from the two genres.

This point is hit home at the end of the prologue when Lucian likens his generic creation

to Prometheus‘ sacrifice trick of bones covered in fat (Lit. Prom.7). As this comparison

reveals, one feature of Lucian‘s comic dialogue is that what appears to be a clear,

philosophical purpose on the surface is in actuality concealing comic laughter. Such an

analogy is perhaps the reverse of what we might expect. Lucian‘s equation of philosophy

with Prometheus‘ fat would seem to imply that Lucian regards philosophy as a popular

pursuit, much to philosophy‘s detriment. No longer able to provoke hard questions in

people, philosophy becomes the seductive cover for comic laughter, a powerful protreptic

tool. If we apply this analogy to the Nigrinus, by paying attention only to the fatty,

philosophical parts we assume the role of the gods. As this metaphor reveals, reading

Nigrinus as a serious philosopher ultimately misses the underlying comic aspects of

Lucian‘s texts that are critical to understanding his portrait of this philosopher.

5 Clay (1992: 3420). It could be suggested, however, that Eunapius was correct in his exclusion of the

Nigrinus from his statement regarding the Demonax and that the Nigrinus is not in fact a serious portrait of

a philosopher, an argument that I will make in the rest of the chapter.

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Like the Literary Prometheus, the Nigrinus presents us with a philosophical

surface that conceals several references to Old Comedy, which reveal Lucian‘s attempts

to return philosophy to its Socratic form. As I will suggest, Lucian‘s careful use of

Platonic and Aristophanic references unveil more comic aspects of this text and allow it

to be viewed not as an enigma but in line with Lucian‘s other attacks on charlatan

philosophers that we explored in the previous chapters. To illustrate this point, I will

begin my discussion by examining the philosophical overtones of the text found in

Lucian‘s use of Platonic, Aristophanic, and Thucydidean references in his opening letter

to Nigrinus, which, as I will show, begin to reveal Lucian‘s true feelings regarding

Nigrinus. I will then turn to look specifically at the figure of the Student, whom Clay has

labeled a rhetorician, and will focus my discussion on one particular Homeric allusion

found in the mouths of both the Student and Nigrinus that illustrates the close affinity

between teacher and Student, suggesting that we cannot evaluate the success of Nigrinus

as a philosopher without taking into account the failures of his Student. 6 Lucian

emphasizes this point, as I will argue, through a double allusion to the Plato‘s Phaedrus

and Aristophanes‘ Clouds found in the word κεηέσξνο (high in the air, haughty), a word

that highlights the close union of Comedy and Philosophy in this text and furthers

Lucian‘s satire of Nigrinus as a philosopher. Such an allusion allows us to begin to view

the Nigrinus as one of Lucian‘s comic dialogues. My discussion will then conclude with

an analysis of the overall structure of the Nigrinus, how it mimics Plato‘s Phaedrus, and

ultimately how it invites us to read the text as another example of Lucian‘s attacks on

6 Clay (1992: 3424-3425).

251

charlatan philosophers, a typical theme among Lucian‘s comic dialogues. As the Nigrinus

confirms, Lucian‘s characterization of his literary style as the union of Old Comedy and

Platonic dialogue speaks as much to his use of elements drawn from both genres as a

means of advocating the rejection of contemporary philosophy as it does to the actual

format of the text.

Scholarship on the Nigrinus has focused for the most part on Nigrinus‘ speech, its

views of Rome, and the philosophy he espouses in it, while the framing letter, the

embedded dialogue, and the Aristophanic and Platonic resonances that they contain have

tended to be overlooked. Clay‘s and Whitmarsh‘s discussions of the Nigrinus are the

exception to this trend. While previous scholarship has for the most part assumed that the

Student represents Lucian, Clay argues against such an association and suggests in fact

that allusions to Homer and tragedy found throughout the dialogue betray the Student as a

lover of rhetoric. 7

For Clay, the Student does not represent a serious philosophical

convert but rather a sophist figure at whom we are meant to laugh.8 Yet Clay‘s

interpretation of the Student begs the question, if the Student is a ridiculous figure, how

then are we to view his teacher?

In contrast to Clay‘s discussion of the figure of the Student, Whitmarsh turns his

attention to the overall structure of the work and how it alludes to Plato‘s Symposium.

Although scholars have long noted Lucian‘s incorporation of references to Plato‘s

Menexenus, Protagoras, Symposium, and Phaedrus, it was not until Whitmarsh that the

7 See Baldwin (1973) and Camerotto (1998) for arguments for this connection. For an overall summary of

all scholarship on the Nigrinus pre-1981, see Hall (1981). 8 Clay (1992: 3423).

252

outer frames of the text began to be more fully understood.9 For Whitmarsh, the

Nigrinus‘ complex narrative structure— a dialogue that recounts a speech and is framed

by a letter, mirrors that of the Symposium. In the Symposium, Plato separates us from

Socrates‘ voice by introducing the text with a dialogue between Apollodorus and an

unnamed companion, which recounts a previous retelling of the speeches on love given at

Agathon‘s house in 416 BCE. As Whitmarsh argues, the narrative structure of both texts

effectively removes us from the voice of the philosopher at the same time as it

emphasizes our distance from him.10

According to Whitmarsh, the allusions found in the

Nigrinus, Platonic and otherwise, play a critical role in the text‘s interpretation, and as I

will argue, they also convey more comic undertones that call into question the traditional

view of the text and its protagonist.

The complex structure of the Nigrinus, however, presents a number of

interpretative challenges, two of which I will discuss here.11

First, as I have already

mentioned, although the Student labels Nigrinus as a Platonic philosopher, there is

nothing particularly Platonic about his philosophy (Nigr. 2). For, as scholars have

9 For the most complete catalogue of Platonic allusions within the Nigrinus, see Neef (1940). See

Whitmarsh (2001:265-8) for a discussion of specific allusions to the Symposium. Anderson notes that the

opening of the embedded dialogue contains the highest concentration of Platonic allusions, but cites these

allusions as evidence of Lucian nodding: ―Lucian tends to be a little disorganized when he is delivering a

piece for a single occasion. In this case the frame (1-12) suggests that he is trying to combine as much

material as possible as though for a single opportunity to impress; Platonic reminiscences are more thickly

concentrated here than anywhere else in the work; while the whole ensemble, with its apparently serious

central speech is an attempt to reproduce something of the Menexenus‖ (Anderson 1978:372). While

Anderson here seems to dismiss the presence of Platonic allusions as if they were mere window dressing, it

is my contention that they are an important aspect of the work and are central to our understanding of the

text. 10

Whitmarsh (2001: 276). 11

Jennifer Hall (1981) has already provided a thorough analysis of Nigrinus‘ speech and for that reason I

will not treat the speech on its own, but rather will refer to it as it becomes necessary in the course of my

discussion.

253

already pointed out, his views of the respective cities are nothing more than cliché

characterizations typically found in Roman satire and Greek diatribe.12

Athens is praised

for the philosophically pure lifestyle it promotes, while Rome comes under attack for its

decadent way of life (Nigr. 12-37). As Clay suggests:

The real subject of Lucian‘s Nigrinus is not ―The Philosophy of Nigrinus‖

(as advertised in the mss.) His philosophy is the stale, flat, and

unprofitable fare of Roman satire and Greek diatribe. It amounts to a

praise of poverty (and Athens 13-16) and the vices of the great city of

Rome (17-34).13

If the text is in fact a serious portrait of a philosopher intended to praise him, why do we

find nothing new or interesting in his speech? Second, scholars have read the

relationship between the Student and Nigrinus as a veiled biography of Lucian‘s own

experiences with Nigrinus as his teacher –a perspective, as I will contend, that has led to

a misunderstanding of the relationship between teacher and Student.14

Although it might

be tempting to read the Nigrinus as at least partially autobiographical, it is important to

keep in mind that the ―Lucian‖ of this letter is as much an authorial persona as

Parrhesiades of the Fisherman or the Syrian of the Twice Prosecuted.15

His authorial

voice is stylized like Lucian‘s other personae and cannot, therefore, be assumed to be the

12

See Hall (1981:157). 13

Clay (1992:3423). 14

See Baldwin (1973), Hall (1981), Jones (1986), and Camerotto (1998) as more recent examples of this

interpretation. For a summary of earlier interpretations of the text, see Hall (1981: 158). 15

I follow Clay here in calling into question earlier autobiographical readings of the text. Clay (1992: 3422)

in his arguments against reading the Student as Lucian himself states: ―If we can identify the Convert with

Lucian himself, we have gained a detail in Lucian‘s biography. And so it is sometimes stated that, at some

time in his errant career, Lucian returned to Rome to consult an eye doctor. And since the Convert of the

Nigrinus is often identified with Lucian with no separation anxieties, the trip to the ophthalmologist has

seemed good history. But both assumptions rest on the foundation of prior assumptions. The first is that

when Lucian creates a character in his dialogues (call him Lykinos) or a narrator in his lives he is speaking

of and for himself. The second assumption is that the autobiographical details revealed by such an

identification can safely be extracted from their literary contexts for the purposes of biography.‖

254

author‘s own. In his letter, Lucian professes, among other things, his desire to convey his

opinion of Nigrinus to Nigrinus himself, (ἐπεὶ δὲ κόλελ ζνη δειῶζαη ηὴλ ἐκὴλ γλώκελ

ἐζέισ, Nigr. praefatio). This prefatory letter, however, does not explicitly express

Lucian‘s opinion, and it is necessary to derive it from the dialogue that follows and even

Nigrinus‘ speech. The Nigrinus thus invites us not just to read the work linearly, but to

reread and compare the dialogue‘s description of Nigrinus and his speech with Lucian‘s

own comments to Nigrinus himself. In the next section, I will argue that Lucian‘s

references to Plato, Old Comedy, and even Thucydides in his letter to Nigrinus serve as a

subtext that highlights Lucian‘s criticisms of the philosopher.

I. Lucian’s Letter to Nigrinus: Platonic ἔρως and the Void Left by Nigrinus’

Philosophy16

The opening of the Nigrinus is a letter from Lucian to Nigrinus that seems, at least on the

surface, to convey Lucian‘s devotion to the philosopher.17

As some have noted, however,

the praise is quite effusive, a fact that has led most scholars to discount the letter as

lacking in any real substance.18

While on the surface Lucian‘s letter appears to laud the

philosopher, it does so through language that recalls Plato, Old Comedy, and Thucydides.

In this section I would show that these resonances, in particular those to Old Comedy and

16

The letter that I will refer to in this section is the epistolary portion of the text not the text as a whole,

which is presumably included within Lucian‘s letter to Nigrinus. 17

Schroeder takes a slightly different approach to Lucian‘s portrayal of Nigrinus than other scholars. As

she interprets this letter, and for that matter the text as a whole, Nigrinus represents a Lucianic figure and

she cites certain similarities between Nigrinus and what Lucian has to say in other works, in particular the

prologues. Lucian‘s self-deprecation found in this letter is consequently a way of laughing at himself as

well as Nigrinus. I do not find Schroeder‘s arguments, however, to be entirely convincing, since they focus

almost solely on the character of Nigrinus at the expense of the rest of the text. Schroeder (2000:436-7). 18

See Caster (1935:471-5).

255

Plato, serve as generic markers that inform how we should read the rest of the text and

indicate a union of comedy and philosophy that is in line with Lucian‘s definition of his

―comic dialogues‖ in the Literary Prometheus. By examining both the original context of

the references and how Lucian uses them, I will argue that they infuse Lucian‘s letter

with a level of irony that casts Nigrinus not as an example of a true philosopher but rather

as a charlatan, who has failed to provide Lucian with the philosophical truths he was

searching for.

From the very opening of the letter, Lucian invokes a variety of images from

Classical Athens that color our understanding of Nigrinus and the author‘s views of him.

Λνπθηαλὸο Νηγξίλῳ εὖ πξάηηεηλ. Ἡ κὲλ παξνηκία θεζίλ, Γιαῦθα εἰο

Ἀζήλαο, ὡο γεινῖνλ ὂλ εἴ ηηο ἐθεῖ θνκίδνη γιαῦθαο, ὅηη πνιιαὶ παξ‘ αὐηνῖο

εἰζηλ. ἐγὼ δ‘ εἰ κὲλ δύλακηλ ιόγσλ ἐπηδείμαζζαη βνπιόκελνο ἔπεηηα

Νηγξίλῳ γξάςαο βηβιίνλ ἔπεκπνλ, εἰρόκελ ἂλ ηῷ γεινίῳ γιαῦθαο ὡο

ἀιεζῶο ἐκπνξεπόκελνο· ἐπεὶ δὲ κόλελ ζνη δειῶζαη ηὴλ ἐκὴλ γλώκελ

ἐζέισ, ὅπσο ηε λῦλ ἔρσ θαὶ ὅηη κὴ παξέξγσο εἴιεκκαη πξὸο ηῶλ ζῶλ

ιόγσλ, ἀπνθεύγνηκ‘ ἂλ εἰθόησο θαὶ ηὸ ηνῦ Θνπθπδίδνπ ιέγνληνο ὅηη ἡ

ἀκαζία κὲλ ζξάζνο, ὀθλεξνὺο δὲ ηὸ ιεινγηζκέλνλ ἀπεξγάδεηαη· δινλ

γὰξ ὡο νὐρ ἡ ἀκαζία κνη κόλε ηο ηνηαύηεο ηόικεο, ἀιιὰ θαὶ ὁ πξὸο ηνὺο

ιόγνπο ἔξσο αἴηηνο. ἔξξσζν.

Greetings from Lucian to Nigrinus. As the saying goes, ‗An owl to

Athens,‘ the point being that it would be ridiculous for anyone to bring

owls there, since they have lots of them. If I wanted to put on display my

verbal dexterity and then I wrote it down in a book and sent it to Nigrinus,

I would truly be the butt of that owl-bringing joke. However, since all I

want to do is to reveal my current opinion of you and that I have not been

moved by your logoi in any cursory fashion, I suppose I might also

reasonably escape the terms of the Thucydidean dictum, ‗ignorance leads

to brazenness, but proper consideration renders people timid.‘ For it is

obvious that ignorance on its own is not the only cause of my brazenness,

but also my passion for logoi. Fare well. (Nigr. praef.)

256

In these opening lines, Lucian unites philosophical and comic language and therefore the

two genres.19

As he addresses Nigrinus, Lucian noticeably abandons the standard

greeting of ραίξεηλ in favor of the philosophical, even Platonic, greeting εὖ πξάηηεηλ.20

This greeting announces a philosophical tone from the very opening of the letter and,

consequently, the whole text, implying that, at least on the surface, the Nigrinus will be

philosophical in nature.

In the sentence that follows, however, Lucian states that his letter would be the

equivalent of sending ―an owl to Athens.‖ Lucian‘s choice to label the saying as a

παξνηκία and then to offer an explanation of it is striking.21

Labeled as a cliché, it is

uncommon in the contexts of literary writings, appearing initially in the Birds with the

Nigrinus and Diogenes Laertius‘ biography of Plato representing the two other

occurrences of the saying in Classical Greek from the fifth century B.C.E through the

third century C.E.22

While it is certainly probable that this was a common saying outside

19

While in Lucian‘s time philosophical prose is clearly a genre (one has only to look at Plutarch‘s

Moralia), the genre question becomes trickier for Plato. For a discussion of Plato‘s creation of the

philosophical dialogue, see Nightingale (1995). While it is possible to point to comic elements within

Plato‘s dialogues, the most notable being Aristophanes‘ speech in the Symposium, Lucian‘s union differs

from Plato‘s in that Lucian boasts that his union is harmonious, meaning equal parts comedy and

philosophy. 20

Trapp notes that philosophers tended to use εὖ πξάηηεηλ in place of ραίξεηλ to demonstrate ―their superior

moral seriousness‖ and this phrase appears as a greeting in all of the Platonic Epistles, (Trapp 2003: 35).

See the opening of Epistle 3 for a discussion of why this phrase is preferable to ραίξεηλ. Within Lucian‘s

own corpus, εὖ πξάηηεηλ is the greeting offered to Cronius at the opening of the Peregrinus. It should be

noted that the Nigrinus and the Peregrinus, though usually not grouped together, are both texts that

presents self-proclaimed philosophers. For Lucian‘s own discussion of the use of εὖ πξάηηεηλ as a greeting,

as opposed to ραίξεηλ or ὑγηαίλεηλ, see the A Slip of the Tongue in Greeting, specifically section 5. 21

Among the Paroemiographical writers, little information is provided other than the basic meaning of the

saying. Pausanius Atticus explains: ―<γιαῦθ‘ Ἀζήλαδε>· ἐπὶ ηῶλ ἄιινζελ κάηελ ηὰ πιενλάδνληα ὡο

ζπάληά ηηλα ἐκπνξεπνκέλσλ, ὡο ηὸ ‗πύμνλ ἐο Κύησξνλ ἤγαγεο‘ ἢ ‗ἰρζὺλ εἰο ιιήζπνληνλ.‘‖ 22

Diogenes Laertius‘ use of the saying is similar to that of Lucian‘s. As he explains, if he were to go into

all the details of Plato‘s dialogues: ―γιαῦθα γὰξ εἰο Ἀζήλαο, θαζίλ, εἰδέῃ ζνη ηὰ θαη‘ εἶδνο δηεγεῖζζαη,‖ (as

they say, it would be taking owls to Athens, were I to give you of all people the full particulars, 3.47) This

saying, however, seems to have become popular among Byzantine writers. Procopius uses it twice in his

257

of literature, the Birds contains the first extant usage of it, and Lucian‘s employment of it

here potentially evokes Aristophanes‘ earlier use of this saying.

In the context of the Birds, this saying appears as the Hoopoe summons the birds

to assemble. Upon hearing that the Hoopoe has called an owl to the assembly, Euelpides

proclaims: ―Τί θῄο; Τίο γιαῦθ‘ Ἀζήλαδ‘ ἤγαγελ;‖ (What are you saying? Did someone

bring an owl to Athens? Birds 301). In its original context, this saying functions

metatheatrically: the scene itself is taking place outside of Athens as the play is being

performed there. In Lucian‘s case, the saying takes on a rather ironic tone since as we

later learn his letter is not going to Athens but rather to Rome. This saying and Lucian‘s

subsequent explanation of it implies that Lucian need not send Nigrinus an account of his

own (Lucian‘s) skill –for that would merely make him ―the butt of that owl-bearing

joke.‖23

While the verb ἐπηδείθλπκη can mean simply to display or show, taken in

conjunction with the phrase, δύλακηλ ιόγσλ, it conjures up the image of an epideictic

performance typical of the Second Sophistic.24

Although the greeting εὖ πξάηηεηλ

suggests a serious, philosophical tone to his letter and consequently the rest of the text,

epistles (87 and 102) and Libanius employs it in Epistle 1262, to cite just two examples. 23

The participle, ἐκπνξεπόκελνο, carries with it certain economic connotations that suggest in my mind a

distaste on Lucian‘s part for the commoditization of knowledge. 24

LSJ s.v. ἐπηδείθλπκη, I.2. The phrase ―δύλακηλ ιόγσλ‖ in fact appears elsewhere in Lucian‘s corpus in

reference to rhetorical displays. In the Dream, for example, Paideia promises the young Lucian that if he

ever has to make a speech on behalf of his friend, his audience will be amazed at his ―ηο δπλάκεσο ηῶλ

ιόγσλ,‖ (The Dream 12). The phrase also appears at On Images 3.7 where Lucian scoffs that he will be

able to describe the portrait through his ―ιόγσλ δύλακηλ.‖ In How to Write History 19.1, Lucian uses the

phrase in reference to an unnamed historian who was well known for his ―ιόγσλ δπλάκεη,‖ and again at

57.2 in reference to how rivers, mountains, and fortifications should not be described. In other words,

one‘s ―δύλακηλ ιόγσλ‖ has no place in history writing. In the Scythian 10.16, Lucian says that upon his

seeking out a list of potential patrons, he is told that the city has two eminent citizens who possess

outstanding merit, are from good families, are equal to the Ten Attic Orators in culture and ―ιόγσλ

δπλάκεη.‖

258

this potential reference to the Birds characterizes Nigrinus not in the language of a

philosopher but in that of a contemporary sophist. The comic laughter that lies beneath

this philosophical surface begins to reveal Nigrinus‘ true colors.

In its recalling of the Birds, the phrase ―an owl to Athens‖ in fact carries with it a

variety of connotations that further convey Lucian‘s opinion of Nigrinus as a philosopher.

Typically associated with Athena and wisdom, the owl had close associations with the

city of Athens.25

As a symbol of wisdom, the owl thus seems on the surface to continue

the philosophical tone of εὖ πξάηηεηλ. The scholiast to Aristophanes, however, points out

in his discussion of the original line from the Birds that the owl was more than a symbol

of the goddess Athena, it was also synonymous with the Athenian mint.26

While its

placement after the philosophical greeting εὖ πξάηηεηλ would seem to suggest that the

owl symbolizes philosophical wisdom, it also subtly implies that Nigrinus receives

money for his teachings.27

In the context of the Platonic greeting, the owl as a monetary

symbol characterizes Nigrinus more as a sophist figure than as a philosopher and

suggests a subversion of Nigrinus‘ role as such.

As a symbol of both wisdom and money, the owl invokes the tension between the

sophists and Socrates found in Plato‘s dialogues.28

In his description of Nigrinus, the

25

Sidwell explains that this phrase is the Greek equivalent of the English phrase, ―coals to Newcastle.‖

Sidwell (2005: 20 n2). 26

The scholiast provides the following comment: ―δηόηη εἰζὶ πνιιαὶ γιαῦθεο εἰο ηὰο Ἀζήλαο· νὐ κόλνλ γὰξ

δῷα, ἀιιὰ θαὶ εἰο ηὰ λνκίζκαηα ἐληεηππσκέλαη,‖ (because there are many owls in Athens, not only living

ones, but also ones stamped on their coins.) See Ar. Aves 301. 27

Read as a monetary symbol, this might also suggest that the Student has paid Nigrinus for his teachings,

though the Student never mentions this in his account to his friend. 28

In comparison to Socrates‘ disavowal of knowledge, broadly speaking, the sophists claim to know what

they do not know and to be able to teach it for a fee. See esp. Protagoras 310d.

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Student labels his teacher as ηὸλ Πιαησληθὸλ θηιόζνθνλ, (Nigr. 2). The image of the

owl, with its dual connotations, introduces Nigrinus as a rather ambiguous figure, inciting

us to question the Platonic label the Student later attributes to him and, for that matter, the

very character of the Student. As Clay argues, the Student is a satirical figure whose

conversion to philosophy is questionable.29

Lucian‘s use of the owl thus problematizes

the view that Nigrinus is a philosopher.

As the opening lines of the letter make clear, Lucian lays the groundwork for how

we should regard Nigrinus in the rest of the text. For as Lucian indicates, his letter

represents his opinion of Nigrinus, and it is therefore possible to read the tone of this

letter as indicative of the work as a whole. As Lucian goes on to say, the purpose of his

letter to Nigrinus is to express his opinion of him, that is, what he currently thinks of him,

and most importantly for our discussion, how Nigrinus‘ words have affected him.30

While scholars have tended to interpret this statement as Lucian‘s effusive praise of

Nigrinus, Lucian‘s description of the effect that Nigrinus‘ words had over him as not

παξέξγσο (cursory) is striking. The fact that he chooses to negate παξέξγσο rather than

to employ a positive alternative emphasizes the significance of παξέξγσο in this

statement and, ultimately, to our understanding of Lucian‘s characterization of Nigrinus.

If we consider how Lucian expresses his opinion of Nigrinus as a whole, namely through

a speech of Nigrinus related by the Student in dialogue format, παξέξγσο becomes a term

not just descriptive of Nigrinus‘ effect on Lucian but also of how Lucian approaches

29

Clay (1992: 3424). 30

The placement of κόλελ here, directly preceding ζνη and separated from ηὴλ ἐκὴλ γλώκελ, indicates on

Lucian‘s part a desire to tell Nigrinus exactly what he thinks of him. Since ζνη is enclitic, emphasis is

placed on κόλελ.

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Nigrinus. Lucian's portrait of Nigrinus is not straightforward but rather has hidden him

behind several narrative layers and, as Whitmarsh has already pointed out, put distance

between his audience and the eponymous philosopher. Lucian thus does not directly state

his opinion of Nigrinus in the letter but instead uses the subsequent characterization of

Nigrinus and his Student to convey his true opinion.

As we have already seen, the opening of Lucian's letter to Nigrinus draws on the

language and scenarios of Plato and Aristophanes, and to these authors we can add

Thucydides as well. For Lucian, these references become a tool both to further define his

relationship with Nigrinus and to question Nigrinus‘ role as a philosopher. At the

conclusion of his letter, Lucian imagines that his treatment of Nigrinus might leave him

open to the criticism that Pericles once leveled at non-Athenians in his famed Funeral

Oration:

ἀπνθεύγνηκ‘ ἂλ εἰθόησο θαὶ ηὸ ηνῦ Θνπθπδίδνπ ιέγνληνο ὅηη ἡ ἀκαζία

κὲλ ζξάζνο, ὀθλεξνὺο δὲ ηὸ ιεινγηζκέλνλ ἀπεξγάδεηαη·

I suppose I might also reasonably escape the terms of the Thucydidean

dictum, ‗ignorance leads to brazenness, but proper consideration renders

people timid.‘ (Nigr. praef.)

In the original Thucydidean context of these lines, Pericles characterizes the Athenians as

able to use reflection to their advantage, while non-Athenians are hampered by it: ὃ ηνῖο

ἄιινηο ἀκαζία κὲλ ζξάζνο, ινγηζκὸο δὲ ὄθλνλ θέξεη, (For others, ignorance makes men

bold, but consideration hesitant, Histories 20.4.3). In Lucian‘s appropriation of the line,

however, he has deleted Thucydides‘ ηνῖο ἄιινηο and effectively placed himself in the

outsider position of a non-Athenian in Thucydides‘ context, thus distancing himself from

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Nigrinus who up to this point in the letter has been synonymous with Athens.31

Lucian, however, uses Thucydides‘ voice to highlight not only the difference

between himself and Nigrinus but also the audacity of his endeavor. Boldness, which

was originally in Pericles‘ speech a negative quality associated with non-Athenians,

becomes at the end of Lucian‘s letter the result of his ignorance, passion, and ultimately

the driving force behind the Nigrinus, (δινλ γὰξ ὡο νὐρ ἡ ἀκαζία κνη κόλε ηο ηνηαύηεο

ηόικεο, ἀιιὰ θαὶ ὁ πξὸο ηνὺο ιόγνπο ἔξσο αἴηηνο.) Lucian here proudly applies the

negative non-Athenian traits to himself, but he notably exchanges the ζξάζνο of the

original Thucydidean line for ηόικα as an expression of his audacity. Within the

Thucydidean context established by the earlier allusion, ηόικα generally signifies a

negative, destructive trait, often associated with Athens.32

In the congress of the

Spartans, for example, ηόικα is indicative of Athens‘ superior attitude to the rest of the

Greek world: αὖζηο δὲ νἱ κὲλ θαὶ παξὰ δύλακηλ ηνικεηαὶ θαὶ παξὰ γλώκελ θηλδπλεπηαὶ,

(And again they are bold beyond their power and they are daring beyond their judgment,

Hist. 1.70.3). Lucian‘s incorporation of Thucydides‘ voice, however, is ultimately a

31

Lucian‘s interest in the position of an outsider is in part connected to his non-Greek identity and the

outsider perspective that it provides. This perspective allows for much of the subversion that takes place

throughout his corpus. Good examples of this can be seen in this two Menippus works (the Icaromenippus

and the Menippus) and the Charon, to name just a select few. 32

According to Thucydides, the political unrest in Athens caused ordinary words to change their meaning,

and ―ηόικα κὲλ γὰξ ἀιόγηζηνο ἀλδξεία θηιέηαηξνο ἐλνκίζζε,‖ (reckless audacity came to be considered the

courage of a loyal supporter.) An obvious exception to this is Thucydides‘ description of Brasidas‘ death at

Amphipolis. In his description of the fighting at Amphipolis, Brasidas falls on a group of Athenian soldiers

who are described by Thucydides as being amazed at Brasidas‘ boldness: ―θαὶ πξνζβαιὼλ ηνῖο Ἀζελαίνηο

πεθνβεκέλνηο ηε ἅκα ηῆ ζθεηέξᾳ ἀηαμίᾳ θαὶ ηὴλ ηόικαλ αὐηνῦ ἐθπεπιεγκέλνηο,‖ (He fell upon the

Athenians at the same time frightened by their disorder and struck by his audacity.) Hist. 5.10.6. Compare,

however, Thucydides‘ use of the term as he describes the Athenian fleet‘s departure for Sicily: ―θαὶ ὁ

ζηόινο νὐρ ἧζζνλ ηόικεο ηε ζάκβεη θαὶ ὄςεσο ιακπξόηεηη πεξηβόεηνο ἐγέλεην ἢ ζηξαηηᾶο πξὸο νὓο

ἐπῆζαλ ὑπεξβνιῆ,‖ (Indeed the expedition became not less famous for its wonderful boldness and for the

splendor of its appearance, than for its overwhelming strength as compared with the peoples against whom

it was directed.) Hist. 6.31.6.

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method of characterizing his approach to the philosopher Nigrinus. His use of

Thucydidean language to describe the boldness of his endeavor conveys a concern on

Lucian‘s part, albeit potentially a rhetorical trope, that his characterization of Nigrinus

runs the risk of being overly bold, a fear that seems out of place if we read the letter, and

for that matter the rest of the text, as effusive praise of the philosopher. Such hesitation,

whether it be genuine or not, would thus seem to suggest that the Nigrinus will not

present us with favorable portrait of the philosopher but something more along the lines

of a critique.

We must keep in mind, however, that Lucian‘s allusion to Thucydides appears

within the philosophical tone established by Lucian‘s initial greeting to Nigrinus, and the

language employed here at the end of the letter should be viewed in light of such a

greeting. In addition to calling to mind the Athenians‘ negative audacity, in a

philosophical context ηόικα also carries with it specific Platonic connotations that speak

not just to Lucian‘s treatment of Nigrinus but to Lucian‘s own relationship to philosophy.

Within Plato‘s dialogues, ηόικα or ―tolma-language‖ often denotes Plato‘s boldness in

founding a new philosophical movement and challenging traditional teachings.33

Found

within the context of a philosophical letter and directly following a Thucydidean allusion,

Lucian‘s ηόικα represents a double allusion and a certain amount of playfulness on

Lucian‘s part. On the one hand, Lucian‘s use of ηόικα suggests that he might be like

Thucydides‘ characterization of the Athenians, being overly bold in his treatment of

Nigrinus, while on the other hand it implies that Lucian, like Plato before him, is

33

Torchia (1993:12-13).

263

preparing to confront Nigrinus‘ teachings through his comic dialogue genre.

Lucian challenges contemporary philosophers such as Nigrinus because, as he

indicates at the end of his letter, Nigrinus has failed to inspire wisdom in him. At the end

of his letter, Lucian draws a connection between ηόικα, ἀκαζία, and ἔξσο that stems

from his allusion to Pericles‘ funeral oration at the same time as it evokes the Socrates‘

discussions love found in the Symposium and the Phaedrus.34

Lucian‘s reference to these

discussions of love found within these dialogues brings their respective definitions of

philosophy to bear on Nigrinus' role as a philosopher. Although Whitmarsh has already

argued for the structural connections between the Symposium and the Nigrinus, the

presence of ἀκαζία, ἔξσο, and their connection to the Symposium has largely gone

unnoticed by scholars. In the context of the Symposium, ἀκαζία and ἔξσο are closely

related to the definition of philosophy found in Socrates' version of Diotima‘s speech.

According to Diotima, Love was the son of Poros (resource) and Penia (poverty) and

consequently possesses the characteristics of both parents (Symp. 203c-203d). He is

neither rich nor poor and exists between wisdom and ignorance (ζνθίαο ηε αὖ θαὶ

ἀκαζίαο ἐλ κέζῳ ἐζηίλ, Symp. 202e). As the argument of Diotima‘s speech makes clear,

a lover of wisdom, in other words a philosopher, holds the same position as Love, stuck

between ignorance and wisdom, ultimately never able to obtain his goal. Socrates asks

Diotima: Τίλεο νὖλ, ἔθελ ἐγώ, ὦ Δηνηίκα, νἱ θηινζνθνῦληεο, εἰ κήηε νἱ ζνθνὶ κήηε νἱ

ἀκαζεῖο; (In that case Diotima, who are the people who love wisdom, if they are neither

34

The concepts of ἀκαζία and ἔξσο are important ones within the context of Pericles‘ speech (i.e. we

should all be lovers of Athens), yet the ultimate philosophical tenor of Lucian‘s letter to Nigrinus would

seem to suggest that his final lines to Nigrinus should be viewed within a philosophical context.

264

wise nor ignorant?) To which Diotima responds that lovers of wisdom hold the same

position as that of ἔξσο: Δινλ δή, ἔθε, ηνῦηό γε ἤδε θαὶ παηδί, ὅηη νἱ κεηαμ ηνύησλ

ἀκθνηέξσλ, ὧλ ἂλ εἴε θαὶ ὁ Ἔξσο, (That‘s obvious, she said. A child could tell you.

Those who love wisdom fall in between those two extremes, Symp. 204b). To love

wisdom then is to lack it (Symp. 204b-204c). Lucian‘s connection between ἀκαζία and

ἔξσο thus recalls the Symposium and Diotima's portrayal of ἔξσο. Read in this way,

ἔξσο, which was previously believed by scholars to denote Lucian‘s admiration for

Nigrinus, suggests that Lucian has not found in Nigrinus what he is searching for.

In a Platonic context, however, ἔξσο cannot recall the Symposium without also

bringing to mind Plato‘s other great dialogue on love, the Phaedrus. Just as in the

Symposium, ἔξσο in the Phaedrus also denotes a lack. As Lucian concludes his letter, he

states that his passion for logoi is the reason behind the Nigrinus. This passion for logoi

(ὁ πξὸο ηνὺο ιόγνπο ἔξσο) in particular evokes the Phaedrus and the passion that

Phaedrus initially feels for Lysias‘ speech. In his discussion of ἔξσο in the Phaedrus,

Geier cites the close relationship between ἔξσο and ἐξώηα (―ask‖), the final word of

Lysias‘ reported speech: ἐγὼ κὲλ νὖλ ἱθαλά κνη λνκίδσ ηὰ εἰξεκέλα· εἰ δ‘ ἔηη <ηη> ζὺ

πνζεῖο, ἡγνύκελνο παξαιειεῖθζαη, ἐξώηα. (I think what has been said is sufficient as far

as I‘m concerned, but if you still yearn for something because you supposed it has been

left out, ask, Phdr. 234c). As Geier argues, the love that Phaedrus believes he feels for

Lysias and his speech is ultimately misguided. Lysias‘ speech provokes no questions in

Phaedrus‘ mind and consequently no ἔξσο. It is only after Socrates attempts to define

love in his first speech, only to break it off in the middle, leaving Phaedrus hanging, that

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ἔξσο begins to be inspired in Phaedrus.35

This ἔξσο grows in Phaedrus and replaces the

original passion he felt for logoi as speeches with a passion for logoi as philosophical

discussions. Like Phaedrus, Lucian here professes a passion for logoi and scholars

generally have interpreted logoi as denoting Nigrinus‘ speech.36

Seen as such, Nigrinus‘

speech is as much a failure as Lysias‘. As the preceding portions of the letter indicate,

these logoi have not inspired questions or a desire on Lucian‘s part to learn from Nigrinus

and, as we will see in the ensuing dialogue, the Student, who is not unlike Hermotimus,

believes Nigrinus to have instilled knowledge in him. Lucian‘s letter to Nigrinus thus

indicates from the very outset of the work that Nigrinus does not fit the paradigm of a

Platonic philosopher. He potentially receives money for his teaching and provides

answers, not questions.

Lucian, however, does not clarify ηνὺο ιόγνπο with a possessive adjective and we

need not assume that they refer to Nigrinus‘ speech. The Platonic language of the final

lines of the letter signals that Lucian‘s passion for logoi is a passion for philosophical

logoi, in particular those of Plato. His love of them, however, signifies an absence of

them and consequently denotes his dissatisfaction with those offered by Nigrinus.

Lucian‘s use of Platonic language to express Nigrinus‘ failure as a philosopher suggests

that Lucian looks to Plato as his guide. It is Lucian‘s text, not Nigrinus, which inspires us

to question how to lead a philosophical life. Lucian thus sets himself up to fill the role

that Nigrinus has failed to, namely a philosophical teacher. Like the Platonic Socrates,

35

Geier (2002: 143-181). 36

Since there has been very little actual discussion of this letter, I am basing this assertion on how scholars

have translated the final lines of the letter and it is almost without exception that the possessive adjective

―your‖ is supplied.

266

Lucian does not provide us with answers but rather with questions (albeit often through

laughter) about distinguishing between true and charlatan philosophers.

As Lucian suggests in the Literary Prometheus, his philosophical fat hides the

comic bones of his writings. In the case of the Nigrinus, the philosophical language

found at the conclusion of the letter establishes a philosophical tone that functions at the

surface of the text. This continues even after the conclusion of the letter as Lucian

presents us with a dialogue between the Student and his Friend. In the following section,

I will examine the dialogue portion of the text, in particular a Homeric allusion found

both in mouth of the Student and later in Nigrinus‘ speech. This allusion is used by Clay

to prove that the Student is a lover of rhetoric not philosophy, a characterization that I

will argue should be extended to Nigrinus himself.

II. Nigrinus as the Song of the Sirens

In the previous section, we saw how references to Plato, Aristophanes, and Thucydides

undercut Nigrinus‘ role as a philosopher worthy of emulation. Although Nigrinus‘ status

as a serious philosopher has hardly been questioned by modern scholars, his Student has

not been viewed with the same admiration. In his discussion of the Nigrinus, Clay argues

that Nigrinus is not in fact the subject of Lucian‘s piece, but rather Nigrinus‘ Student:

What is striking about the Nigrinus is not in fact the philosophy of

Nigrinus; it is the enthusiasm of the Convert (the Student). His conversion

is the object of Lucian‘s interest and the object of Lucian‘s satire, and it is

a fascinating document of a skeptic‘s view of the quasi-religious nature of

philosophical conversion. 37

37

Clay writes, ―The real subject of Lucian‘s Nigrinus is not ―The Philosophy of Nigrinus‖ (as advertised in

the mss.) His philosophy is the stale, flat, and unprofitable fare of Roman satire and Greek diatribe. It

267

While Clay‘s arguments are well taken, the fact that a majority of the text is devoted to

the Student‘s recounting of Nigrinus‘ speech suggests that the focus is less on the

character of the Student than on his experience with Nigrinus. In his description of his

encounter with Nigrinus, the Student persistently turns to Homeric allusions and the

language of the stage to convey his experience fully. For Clay, this aspect of the

Student‘s account, as well as his choice to relate Nigrinus‘ words as a speech,

characterizes him as a rhetorician instead of a philosopher.38

Taking this a step further,

Lucian characterizes the Student not merely as a rhetorician but as a sophist who, like so

many other sophists of the Second Sophistic, is greatly concerned with exhibiting his

paideia to his companion.39

In this section, I will focus on one particular allusion to

Homer‘s Sirens that characterizes not only the Student as lover of rhetoric but Nigrinus as

well. I will argue that Lucian recasts the typically Homeric Sirens in a Platonic light, thus

indicating that his satire is not just restricted to the figure of the Student but extends to

include Nigrinus as well. Like the Sirens, the seductiveness of Nigrinus has the power to

lead a potential philosopher off course.

amounts to a praise of poverty (and Athens 13-16) and the vices of the great city of Rome (17-34)…What

is striking about the Nigrinus is not in fact the philosophy of Nigrinus; it is the enthusiasm of the Convert

(the Student). His conversion is the object of Lucian‘s interest and the object of Lucian‘s satire, and it is a

fascinating document of a skeptic‘s view of the quasi-religious nature of philosophical conversion,‖ (Clay

1992: 3423). 38

Clay initially points to a similarity between the Student and the figure of the Apollodorus from the

Symposium. Both are passionate followers of the philosophers who inspired their philosophical conversion.

Apollodorus, however, repeats both the speeches and dialogue that occurred at Agathon‘s symposium,

while the Student chooses to present Nigrinus‘ words as if it were a speech (Clay assumes that some

dialogue must have occurred between the Student and Nigrinus). (Clay 1992: 3423-3425). This in my

mind would characterize the Student very much as a sophist of the second sophistic greatly concerned with

exhibiting his paideia to his companion. 39

Such rhetorical elements would not make Nigrinus or his Student unique among those purporting to be

philosophers in Lucian‘s time. One has only to look at figures such as Dio and Favorinus to see evidence

of this.

268

According to the Student, Nigrinus‘ logoi are the philosophical equivalent of the

Sirens, the nightingale, and the Lotus Eaters:40

δὲ ἀπ‘ <ἀξρο> ἀξμάκελνο, ὦ ἑηαῖξε, πεξὶ ηνύησλ ιέγεηλ θαὶ ηὴλ

ἑαπηνῦ γλώκελ δηεγεῖζζαη ηνζαύηελ ηηλά κνπ ιόγσλ ἀκβξνζίαλ

θαηεζθέδαζελ, ὥζηε θαὶ ηὰο Σεηξλαο ἐθείλαο, εἴ ηηλεο ἄξα ἐγέλνλην, θαὶ

ηὰο ἀεδόλαο θαὶ ηὸλ κήξνπ ισηὸλ ἀξραῖνλ ἀπνδεῖμαη·

He began right away to talk about these things, my friend, and to tell me

his views. In doing so he sprinkled over me such an amount of ambrosial

language that he rendered obsolete the famous Sirens (if they really

existed), the nightingales and the Homeric lotus. (Nigr.3-4)

As Clay has already suggested, the Student‘s style of language here characterizes his

―conversion‖ to philosophy as dubious: ―The Convert (Student) is drunk with the nectar

of Nigrinus‘ words; they are the song of the Sirens. This is the stuff of rhetoric, not

philosophy.‖41

While Clay‘s characterization of Nigrinus‘ words is apt, it fails to take

into account the meaning behind each of these images and how they influence our

interpretation of Nigrinus. To begin with, the Student‘s assertion that the power of

Nigrinus‘ logoi surpasses that of the Sirens and the Lotus Eaters does not ultimately

convey what the Student intends it to convey, namely how great a philosopher Nigrinus

40

While Lucian clearly alludes to the Sirens and Lotus Eaters of Homer‘s Odyssey (12.165-200 and 9.82-

104), the allusion to the nightingale is less clear. At Odyssey 19.518 as Penelope tells the disguised

Odysseus about her sorrows she compares herself to the nightingale: ―ὡο δ‘ ὅηε Παλδαξένπ θνύξε, ρισξεῒο

ἀεδώλ, / θαιὸλ ἀείδῃζηλ ἔαξνο λένλ ἱζηακέλνην, / δελδξέσλ ἐλ πεηάινηζη θαζεδνκέλε ππθηλνῖζηλ, / ἥ ηε

ζακὰ ηξσπῶζα ρέεη πνιπδεπθέα θσλήλ, / παῖδ‘ ὀινθπξνκέλε Ἴηπινλ θίινλ, ὅλ πνηε ραιθῷ / θηεῖλε δη‘

ἀθξαδίαο, θνῦξνλ Ζήζνην ἄλαθηνο·‖ (Just as the daughter of Pandareus, the pale nightingale, sings sweetly

in the greening of spring, perched in the leaves, and trills out her song of lament for her son, her beloved

Itylus, whom she killed unwittingly, Itylus, the son of Zethus her lord). 41

Clay (1992: 3424). For arguments in favor of the Student‘s philosophical conversion, see Cancik

(1998). Cancik argues that the Nigrinus represents the longest and oldest text from antiquity to provide us

with an account of a philosophical conversion (31). He goes on to state that at the opening of the Nigrinus,

―Lucian fundamentally expounds the theme of his narrative frame. He aims at the psychology of the

sudden change, analyses the altered state of the inner man, and reflects upon the question how this

experience and the situation that brought it about can be faithfully transmitted.‖ (32) I do not find his

arguments, however, to be convincing, especially when viewed next to Clay‘s.

269

is.42

Instead, these images characterize Nigrinus as a monstrous figure who possesses the

power to lead one astray, dull one‘s senses, or, in the case of the Sirens, perhaps even

bring about one‘s destruction through knowledge.43

Grouped with the Sirens and the Lotus Eaters, the image of the nightingale is

striking. While the Sirens and the Lotus Eaters refer to specific stories, the nightingale

generally evokes the image of a singer. In the Works and Days, for example, Hesiod tells

a fable about how a hawk seized a nightingale in his talons. When the nightingale cried

out, the hawk responded: δαηκνλίε, ηί ιέιεθαο; ἔρεη λύ ζε πνιιὸλ ἀξείσλ·/ ηῆ δ‘ εἶο ᾗ ζ‘

ἂλ ἐγώ πεξ ἄγσ θαὶ ἀνηδὸλ ἐνῦζαλ· (Goodness, why are you screaming? You are in the

power of one much superior, and you will go whichever way I take you, singer though

you are, Works and Days 207-708). As this passage suggests, the nightingale is a singer,

a characterization that would seem to extend to include Nigrinus himself. Admittedly,

Nigrinus is not labeled as a bard but a philosopher, and the image of the nightingale must

convey Lucian‘s opinion regarding Nigrinus‘ philosophy in general rather than refer to

his method of conducting philosophy. The fame of the nightingale as a singer does not

speak to the content of the nightingale‘s song but the beauty on the surface. It is this

beauty that Lucian in part attacks and it is possible in the context of this allusion to read

Lucian as the hawk. Though Nigrinus may be a beautiful singer, he is powerless to

defend himself against Lucian‘s attacks. Like the image of the Sirens and the Lotus

Eaters, Nigrinus‘ words appear seductive on the surface yet prove to be empty and

42

For Odysseus‘ encounter with the Lotus Eater‘s, see Odyssey 9.84-105 and for his encounter with the

Sirens, see Odyssey 12.165-200. 43

In their song, the Sirens attempt to lure Odysseus by stating that they know everything that the Greeks

and Trojans suffered during the war as well as everything that happens on earth (Ody. 12.189-91).

270

detrimental to the Student. Although the Student wants to relate to his friend his

admiration for Nigrinus‘ logoi, the metaphors actually convey reservations on Lucian‘s

part regarding Nigrinus and, in the case of the Sirens and Lotus Eater imagery, present a

characterization of Nigrinus as potentially dangerous.

In order to appreciate the impact of the Homeric imagery on our understanding of

the Nigrinus, however, we first must examine more fully the relationship between the

seductive teacher and the entranced Student. As the previous passage illustrated, the

Student‘s love for Nigrinus is ultimately not the ἔξσο expressed by Lucian in his letter,

namely the lack that according to Diotima is a prerequisite of philosophy; for the Student

already possesses Nigrinus‘ logoi. Though he claims to be like a lover whose beloved is

absent, Nigrinus has not inspired him to continue his quest for knowledge: ὥζπεξ νἱ

ἐξαζηαὶ ηῶλ παηδηθῶλ νὐ παξόλησλ, (I‘m a lot like lovers when the object of affection is

away, Nigr. 7). Despite his claim to be a lover of philosophy, it is clear from the

language of the following passage that in the Student‘s mind Nigrinus has become

synonymous with philosophy:

νὕησ δὴ θαὶ αὐηὸο θηινζνθίαο νὐ παξνύζεο ηνὺο ιόγνπο νὓο ηόηε ἤθνπζα

ζπλαγείξσλ θαὶ πξὸο ἐκαπηὸλ ἀλαηπιίηησλ νὐ κηθξὰλ ἔρσ παξακπζίαλ,

θαὶ ὅισο θαζάπεξ ἐλ πειάγεη θαὶ λπθηὶ πνιιῆ θεξόκελνο, ἐο ππξζόλ ηηλα

ηνῦηνλ ἀπνβιέπσ, πᾶζη κὲλ παξεῖλαη ηνῖο ὑπ‘ ἐκνῦ πξαηηνκέλνηο ηὸλ

ἄλδξα ἐθεῖλνλ νἰόκελνο, ἀεὶ δὲ ὥζπεξ ἀθνύσλ αὐηνῦ ηὰ αὐηὰ πξόο κε

ιέγνληνο·

This is what I do with respect to philosophy. Though she isn‘t here, I

gather up the words I heard at the time and gain great comfort from as it

were unrolling for myself the book which contains them. I‘m like a sailor

riding the sea at night: Nigrinus is like a beacon that I look to for

guidance. I imagine that the great man is there in everything I do and that

I‘m continually hearing him repeating to me the same message. (Nigr. 7)

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The image of the Student as a sailor and Nigrinus as a beacon reminds us again of the

Student‘s characterization of Nigrinus as a Siren, highlighting the fact that as a beacon,

Nigrinus may lead us astray. Although the Student would like to view him as a great

Platonic philosopher, his description of Nigrinus puts him more in line with the sophists

of Plato‘s dialogues. As dialogues such as the Protagoras and the Gorgias indicate, one

of the main differences between Socrates and the sophists is that the sophists provide

answers (however inadequate), while Socrates guides through elenchus.44

Nigrinus, as a

beacon, however, does not offer this type of guidance to the Student because he has not

inspired the Student to look further. As the Student explains, Nigrinus opened his eyes to

the error his ways by making him forget about his eye disease and provoking him to see

things more clearly with his soul (ὥζηε δή, ηὸ θαηλόηαηνλ, ηνῦ ὀθζαικνῦ κὲλ θαὶ ηο

πεξὶ αὐηὸλ ἀζζελείαο ἐπειαλζαλόκελ, ηὴλ δὲ ςπρὴλ ὀμπδεξθέζηεξνο θαηὰ κηθξὸλ

ἐγηγλόκελ· Nigr.4). The Student has not been incited to think further but rather repeats

Nigrinus‘ speech over and over to himself. Nigrinus‘ style of guidance is one that

provides answers and these answers, according to Lucian, are akin either to the songs of a

nightingale in that they have no power in the real world or even worse to the Sirens and

Lotus Eaters.

The Student‘s constant need to repeat Nigrinus‘ words also calls to mind the

passion Phaedrus‘ expresses for Lysias in the Phaedrus:

44

The Protagoras and the Gorgias are good examples of the main differences between Socrates and the

sophists, namely Socrates asks questions and the sophists provide answers. In both dialogues we witness

the sophists‘ unwillingness to engage with Socrates‘ questions. In the Protagoras, a deal must be struck

between the Socrates and Protagoras before Protagoras will submit to Socrates‘ questions (335-339), while

in the Gorgias, Gorgias simply hands over the discussion to his two pupils, Polus and Callicles (461b). For

a discussion of Socratic elenchus, see Vlastos (1991) and Blondell (2002).

272

Ὦ Φαῖδξε, εἰ ἐγὼ Φαῖδξνλ ἀγλνῶ, θαὶ ἐκαπηνῦ ἐπηιέιεζκαη. ἀιιὰ γὰξ

νὐδέηεξά ἐζηη ηνύησλ· εὖ νἶδα ὅηη Λπζίνπ ιόγνλ ἀθνύσλ ἐθεῖλνο νὐ

κόλνλ ἅπαμ ἤθνπζελ, ἀιιὰ πνιιάθηο ἐπαλαιακβάλσλ ἐθέιεπέλ νἱ ιέγεηλ,

ὁ δὲ ἐπείζεην πξνζύκσο. ηῷ δὲ νὐδὲ ηαῦηα ἦλ ἱθαλά, ἀιιὰ ηειεπηῶλ

παξαιαβὼλ ηὸ βηβιίνλ ἃ κάιηζηα ἐπεζύκεη ἐπεζθόπεη, θαὶ ηνῦην δξῶλ ἐμ

ἑσζηλνῦ θαζήκελνο

I tell you Phaedrus, if I don‘t know Phaedrus, I‘m a stranger to myself too.

But neither of these is the case. I‘m sure that once he had heard Lysias‘

speech he didn‘t hear it just once. No, he nagged him to read it again and

again– and I‘m sure that Lysias was very happy to comply. And I doubt

that even this was enough for Phaedrus. Eventually he borrowed the scroll

himself and pored over those parts of the speech he particularly wanted to

look at this, and continued with this, sitting in his place from daybreak

onwards. (Phaedrus 228a-b)

Though there is a lack of verbal parallels between these two passages, they describe

similar circumstances. As Geier points out, Phaedrus‘ ἔξσο cannot be philosophical ἔξσο

because it has caused Phaedrus to overlook the absurdity of Lysias‘ arguments.45

The

Student has likewise fallen into the same trap. His love for Nigrinus has caused him to

repeat Nigrinus‘ logoi over and over again and, as I will show, misappropriate Nigrinus‘

language in such a way that shows a failure on Nigrinus‘ part to have properly instructed

him.

The comparison between Phaedrus and the Student establishes the Phaedrus as

one of the models for the Nigrinus. In this paradigm, Nigrinus begins to look like a

Lysias figure. Although one could argue that Lysias is not a good comparison with

Nigrinus because he is a rhetorician not a philosopher, Lucian has nonetheless suggested

in his prefatory letter that Nigrinus may receive money for his teachings and has failed to

inspire in him philosophical ἔξσο. In his discussion of the Nigrinus, Clay uses Homeric

45

Geier (2002: 157-158).

273

and tragic language as a kind of litmus test for distinguishing a rhetorician from a

philosopher. For Clay, the Student is clearly a ―lover of Rhetoric‖ because of his

constant use of Homeric and tragic language.46

Yet the Student is not alone in his use of

Homeric language but seems to have borrowed this trait from his teacher. For example,

as Nigrinus describes his return to Rome, he tells how he stopped outside the gates of

Rome to recite a line of Homer:

ὅηε ηὸ πξῶηνλ ἐπαλῄεηλ ἀπὸ ηο ιιάδνο, πιεζίνλ πνπ γελόκελνο

ἐπηζηήζαο ἐκαπηὸλ ιόγνλ ἀπῄηνπλ ηο δεῦξν ἀθίμεσο, ἐθεῖλα δὴ ηὰ ηνῦ

κήξνπ ιέγσλ,

ηίπη‘ αὖη‘, ὦ δύζηελε, ιηπὼλ θάνο ἠειίνην

When I first returned from Greece, I stopped when I got near Rome and

asked myself why I was coming here. I had the famous Homeric line on

my lips:

Why then, you wretch, leaving the sun‘s bright light… (Nigr. 17)47

Nigrinus is here guilty of the same sort of theatricality used by Clay to brand the Student

as a rhetorician.48

If Clay is right to label the Student as such, and I think he is, then that

label must extend to Nigrinus when he employs the same image in his speech. Lucian

thus undermines Nigrinus as a philosopher by placing in his mouth the same style of

language that appeared so absurd in the Student‘s description of his conversion to

philosophy.

Nigrinus‘ own reliance on Homeric language makes it now possible to see the

Student‘s language in the dialogue as merely an imitation of Nigrinus. For example, like

his Student, Nigrinus also employs the image of the Sirens. As he describes what it

46

Clay (1992: 3423-3424). 47

Sidwell notes that this is a rather formulaic line. See Sidwell (2005) Nigrinus n.18. 48

See Clay (1992: 3423-3424) and Whitmarsh (2001:269-270).

274

means to live and conduct philosophy in Rome, he argues that the temptations of life in

Rome must be approached just as Odysseus confronted the Sirens:

ἀιιὰ ἀηερλῶο δεῖ ηὸλ δπζζέα κηκεζάκελνλ παξαπιεῖλ αὐηὰ κὴ

δεδεκέλνλ ηὼ ρεῖξε—δεηιὸλ γάξ—κεδὲ ηὰ ὦηα θεξῷ θξαμάκελνλ, ἀιι‘

ἀθνύνληα θαὶ ιειπκέλνλ θαὶ ἀιεζῶο ὑπεξήθαλνλ.

You really do have to follow Odysseus‘ example and sail past them.

However, it would be cowardly to have your hands tied and your ears

stuffed with wax. You must hear the Siren-song free and truly rise above

its level. (Nigr.19-20)

Nigrinus‘ appropriation of the Siren episode, however, is counterintuitive. As he argues

here, a philosopher must be like Odysseus, except that he should not follow the example

Odysseus set. In other words, a philosopher should listen to the Sirens‘ song but under

no restrictions, since it is only though being completely free that one can overcome their

temptation. I have focused here specifically on the image of the Sirens because it

demonstrates a disconnect between the Student and his teacher. The Student has clearly

borrowed the Siren image from Nigrinus‘ own speech, but his use of this image reveals a

misunderstanding on his part. For as the Student‘s comparison of Nigrinus to the Sirens

indicates, the Sirens represent not something that is dangerous but rather something good

that should be sought out.

The Sirens do not signify Rome for the Student but rather Nigrinus‘ logoi, logoi,

which, according to Nigrinus, must be heard and ultimately overcome. Although

Nigrinus has deceived the Student, Lucian‘s recreation of his speech as well as the

Student‘s reaction to it allows us to hear Nigrinus‘ words and ultimately to overcome

them. If we read Nigrinus‘ dictum regarding the Sirens behind the Student‘s use of the

image, Lucian‘s opinion of Nigrinus becomes even clearer. In the context of the letter,

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Lucian used the saying ―an owl to Athens‖ and referred to Platonic ἔξσο to highlight the

fact that Nigrinus is not a philosopher in the Platonic sense; and the presence of the Siren

imagery functions much in the same way here. Nigrinus‘ logoi have incited ἔξσο in the

Student, but it is not the right kind of ἔξσο. The Student seeks to emulate his teacher but

is ultimately unsuccessful. He appropriates Nigrinus‘ language, as in the Siren metaphor,

only to misuse it. Though the Student‘s Siren metaphor does not ultimately convey his

admiration for Nigrinus as he intends it to, it does suggest once again that Nigrinus does

not fit the role of Platonic philosopher.

The opening letter of the Nigrinus, however, indicates that the text is not simply a

dramatization of the effects of Nigrinus but rather is a text that depicts the effects of

Nigrinus to Nigrinus, who is the assumed primary audience.49

As the Student

inadvertently makes clear, Nigrinus‘ logoi are the equivalent of the song of the Sirens

that must be experienced to be overcome. Lucian‘s choice to recount Nigrinus‘ logoi and

their effect on the Student ultimately conveys to Nigrinus that he must follow his own

advice. To become a good philosopher, he must listen to his own words through the lens

of his Student and witness their effect. Lucian critiques Nigrinus here not only for the

philosophy he espouses but also for failing to instruct his pupil in any meaningful way.

As I have argued in this section, Lucian‘s characterization of the Student calls into

question Nigrinus‘ role as a teacher of philosophy. Such a view of Nigrinus is furthered

49

I do not want to imply here that I believe that Nigrinus was a real person and Lucian in fact sent the

Nigrinus to him. While scholars such as Tarrant (1985) and Baldwin (1973) have made cases for Nigrinus

being a pseudonym for various figures (in particular that of Alcinous), any such arguments are purely

hypothetical and can never be proven definitively. When I talk about Lucian sending a letter to Nigrinus, I

am referring to the dramatic context of the text in which the authorial persona sent a letter to the character

of Nigrinus.

276

by Lucian‘s use of the word κεηέσξνο, which simultaneously evokes two other failed

educative relationships: that of Anaxagoras and Pericles as described in the Phaedrus as

well as that of Strepsiades and Socrates as depicted in the Clouds. This double allusion

effectively unites the comic and philosophical elements found in the Nigrinus so as to

subvert Nigrinus. In the following section, I will use the paradigm established by Lucian

in the Literary Prometheus to discuss Lucian‘s use of the adjective κεηέσξνο first in

terms of the Phaedrus and then as an allusion to the Clouds.

III. A Walk in the Clouds: the Nigrinus as Comic Dialogue

As we saw in the previous section, Homeric language in both the dialogue portion

of the text and in Nigrinus‘ speech reveals certain sophistic qualities in the characters of

the Nigrinus and his Student that subvert the figure of the Student and call into question

Nigrinus‘ claims to be a philosopher. Despite the absurdity of the Student, the question

still remains whether the Nigrinus fits the paradigm of the comic dialogue established in

the first half of this dissertation, in particular that presented in the Literary Prometheus. I

will argue in this section that the Nigrinus, though not typically grouped among Lucian‘s

comic dialogues, fits the requirements in two key respects: it contains a philosophical

surface that hides elements borrowed from Old Comedy and it unites the two elements in

a harmonious mixture to such an extent that both are necessary to understanding Lucian‘s

portrayal of Nigrinus and his Student.

It is not hard to see the philosophical ―fat‖ of the Nigrinus: it presents a portrait of

a philosopher and his own account of his brand of philosophy. Moreover, as Whitmarsh

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argues, the Nigrinus’ complex narrative structure mirrors that of the Symposium and the

way in which Plato separates us from Socrates‘ voice by couching it first behind

Apollodorus‘ and then Aristodemus‘ voice. The narrative structure of the Symposium not

only emphasizes our distance from Socrates, but the fact that people outside of Athens

long after his death still desired to hear about the great philosopher.50

While Whitmarsh

makes the important point that the Nigrinus functions much in the same way, there

remains one crucial difference between the two texts. Unlike the opening of the

Symposium, the Nigrinus commences with a letter from the authorial persona, Lucian, to

the protagonist of the text, Nigrinus. The dialogue that follows must then be viewed in

the context of the letter. Whitmarsh‘s suggestion that the Nigrinus, like the Symposium,

emphasizes our distance from the philosopher is therefore problematic because it fails to

take into account that Nigrinus is the presumed recipient of the dialogue. Lucian thus

creates a scenario that places us in the same position as Nigrinus in that like him we are

the recipients of his words.51

It is this difference between the two texts that suggests a

further layer of complexity to the text. While the standard interpretations of the text as a

letter depicting Lucian‘s devotion to Nigrinus is certainly possible, the question remains

that if the Nigrinus is in fact intended to praise Nigrinus, why is the Student so

ridiculous? Since Nigrinus produced such a Student, it is also possible to read the text as

a corrective tool to illustrate how not to conduct philosophy.

Although the Symposium is a model for the complex narrative structure found in

50

Whitmarsh (2001: 276). 51

Another key difference being that Nigrinus has not been put to death as Socrates was.

278

the Nigrinus, it is by no means the only Platonic text referenced in the Nigrinus.52

In fact,

as Anderson has noted, there is a high concentration of Platonic allusions found at the

opening of the dialogue.53

To cite just a few examples, the Student‘s statement that he

went to visit Nigrinus early in the morning alludes to the opening of the Protagoras,

while the inset speech of Nigrinus mimics Aspasia‘s speech in the Menexenus.54

In

addition, as I have already suggested, the very the scenario of the Nigrinus, namely that

of the Student relating a speech of his teacher to a friend, has distinct similarities to that

of the Phaedrus. If we keep this similarity in mind when we consider the rest of the text,

including the external letter, it is possible to read Lucian as a Plato figure who has created

a dialogue in which he plays no role and Nigrinus, the author of the speech found within

the dialogue, as the Lysias figure. Lucian thus seems to have borrowed the scenario of the

Phaedrus and reworked it to his advantage, imagining what it might be like if Lysias/

Nigrinus witnessed the effect of the teacher over their pupil.55

As Anderson notes, the Student‘s assertion that he can give only a rough account

of his encounter with Nigrinus is a ―concession‖ to Phaedrus 228d.56

The Student firmly

asserts: θἀθεῖλα δέ, ὅηη νὐρ ἑμο νὐδὲ ὡο ἐθεῖλνο ἔιεγε, ῥζίλ ηηλα πεξὶ πάλησλ ἐξῶ·

52

It should be noted that it is perhaps significant that the Nigrinus alludes to the Symposium specifically in

it structure, in other words the very surface of the text. 53

For a summary of the main Platonic allusions found in the Nigrinus, see Anderson (1978). It should be

noted that Anderson does not see these allusions as successfully integrated into the text. For a complete list

of the Platonic allusions, see Tackaberry (1930) and Householder (1941). 54

Anderson (1978: 369). 55

It is, in fact, not surprising that Lucian incorporates the Phaedrus into the Nigrinus since as Trapp asserts

that ―few works were more firmly entrenched in the ‗cultural syllabus‘ of Hellenic paideia by the second

century AD than Plato‘s Phaedrus.‖ For Trapp, the Phaedrus’ subject matter and ―stylistic brilliance‘

makes it inconceivable that a pepaideumenos could have avoided studying the dialogue. Besides a broad

situational similarity between the two texts, there are more specific references, primarily derived from the

opening chapters devoted to Lysias‘ speech, Phaedrus‘ excitement, and Socrates‘ ultimate skepticism as to

its merits. Trapp (1990:141). 56

Anderson (1978: 368).

279

πάλπ γὰξ ηνῦζ‘ ἡκῖλ ἀδύλαηνλ· νὐδ‘ αὖ ἐθείλῳ πεξηζεὶο ηνὺο ιόγνπο (I‘m not going to

speak in an ordered way, as he did. That would be impossible for me. I‘m not going to

put words in his mouth, Nigr. 11). In the corresponding passage from the Phaedrus,

Socrates‘ urging of Phaedrus to deliver Lysias‘ speech prompts Phaedrus to reply:

Οὑησζὶ ηνίλπλ πνηήζσ. ηῷ ὄληη γάξ, ὦ Σώθξαηεο, παληὸο κᾶιινλ ηά γε

ῥήκαηα νὐθ ἐμέκαζνλ· ηὴλ κέληνη δηάλνηαλ ζρεδὸλ ἁπάλησλ, νἷο ἔθε

δηαθέξεηλ ηὰ ηνῦ ἐξῶληνο ἢ ηὰ ηνῦ κή, ἐλ θεθαιαίνηο ἕθαζηνλ ἐθεμο

δίεηκη, ἀξμάκελνο ἀπὸ ηνῦ πξώηνπ.

So that‘s what I‘ll do. Nothing could be truer, Socrates – I did not learn it

word for word; but I shall run through the purport of just about everything

in which he said the situation of the lover was different from that of the

non-lover, giving a summary of each in turn, beginning from the first.

(Phaedrus 228d)

The Student, like Phaedrus, feigns to be able to accurately recollect the words of his

teacher. In Phaedrus‘ case, Socrates soon discovers that he is concealing a written copy

of Lysias‘ speech, while for the Student, his ability to be able to recall Nigrinus‘ words

from memory proves his fear to be nothing more than posturing on his part.

As Whitmarsh points out, however, a clearer allusion can be found in the

Student‘s characterization of the effect Nigrinus‘ words have over him.57

In his

description of his encounter with Nigrinus, the Student compares his experience to that of

an Indian who has just tasted wine for the first time:

δνθῶ γάξ κνη ὅκνηόλ ηη πεπνλζέλαη πξὸο θηινζνθίαλ, νἷόλπεξ θαὶ νἱ Ἰλδνὶ

πξὸο ηὸλ νἶλνλ ιέγνληαη παζεῖλ, ὅηε πξῶηνλ ἔπηνλ αὐηνῦ· ζεξκόηεξνη γὰξ

ὄληεο θύζεη πηόληεο ἰζρπξὸλ νὕησ πνηὸλ αὐηίθα κάια ἐμεβαθρεύζεζαλ

θαὶ δηπιαζίσο ὑπὸ ηνῦ ἀθξάηνπ ἐμεκάλεζαλ.

I think the same thing has happened to me in respect of philosophy as they

say did to the Indians in relation to their first experience of drinking wine.

57

Whitmarsh (2001: 274 n.104).

280

They are a naturally excitable race themselves and when they drank such a

strong concoction they immediately went crazy, and in double measure

too because of the unmixed wine. (Nigr. 5)

The Student‘s description of his passion for Nigrinus mirrors Socrates‘ reaction to

hearing Lysias‘ speech:

Δαηκνλίσο κὲλ νὖλ, ὦ ἑηαῖξε, ὥζηε κε ἐθπιαγλαη. θαὶ ηνῦην ἐγὼ ἔπαζνλ

δηὰ ζέ, ὦ Φαῖδξε, πξὸο ζὲ ἀπνβιέπσλ, ὅηη ἐκνὶ ἐδόθεηο γάλπζζαη ὑπὸ ηνῦ

ιόγνπ κεηαμὺ ἀλαγηγλώζθσλ· ἡγνύκελνο γὰξ ζὲ κᾶιινλ ἢ ἐκὲ ἐπαΐεηλ

πεξὶ ηῶλ ηνηνύησλ ζνὶ εἱπόκελ, θαὶ ἑπόκελνο ζπλεβάθρεπζα κεηὰ ζνῦ ηο

ζείαο θεθαιο.

Yes, it‘s out of this world, my friend. I was amazed. And you were the

reason I felt this way, Phaedrus, because I was looking at you while you

were reading and it seemed to me that the speech made you glow with

pleasure. Assuming that your understanding of these matters is better than

mine, I follow your lead, and so I came to share the ecstasy of your

enthusiasm. (Phaedrus 234d)

Socrates‘ overall reaction to Lysias‘ speech is one of reticence regarding Lysias‘

argument and the enthusiasm, which he professes to share with Phaedrus

(ζπλεβάθρεπζα), is thus highly ironic. As an allusion to this passage, the Student‘s use of

the image of excessively drunken Indians (ἐμεβαθρεύζεζαλ) as a metaphor for his own

experience recalls the irony of Socrates‘ reaction to hearing Lysias‘ speech, and Lucian

here employs this Platonic reference to further subvert the figure of the Student. He is

not the philosophical convert he believes himself to be but instead is like Phaedrus, so

crazy about his teacher that he does not stop to question what Nigrinus has told him.

While there appears to be a wealth of Platonic resonances in the Nigrinus, those to

Old Comedy are notably scarcer, perhaps because they are hidden under the

―philosophical‖ fat on the surface of the text. As Lucian states in the Literary

Prometheus, as well as in several other texts, it is not enough to merely mix philosophical

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dialogue and Old Comedy, one must do so harmoniously. With this in mind, it would

seem that texts in which we cannot easily separate the two would better represent what

Lucian is describing in the Literary Prometheus. As we saw in the opening letter,

Lucian‘s use of the phrase ―an owl to Athens‖ is reminiscent of a scene from the Birds,

but is easily overlooked because it appears in the midst of Platonic language. In addition

to this, I will argue that Lucian‘s use of the adjective κεηέσξνο at several points in the

text simultaneously recalls Plato‘s Phaedrus and Aristophanes‘ Clouds, illustrating

Lucian‘s ability to meld the two genres into a unified whole.

At the very outset of the dialogue, the Student‘s friend accuses him of being

arrogant and having his head in the clouds:

Ὡο ζεκλὸο ἡκῖλ ζθόδξα θαὶ κεηέσξνο ἐπαλειήιπζαο. νὐ ηνίλπλ

πξνζβιέπεηλ ἡκᾶο ἔηη ἀμηνῖο νὔζ‘ ὁκηιίαο κεηαδίδσο νὔηε θνηλσλεῖο ηῶλ

ὁκνίσλ ιόγσλ, ἀιι‘ ἄθλσ κεηαβέβιεζαη θαὶ ὅισο ὑπεξνπηηθῷ ηηλη ἔνηθαο.

You seem so haughty and like you have your head in the clouds since

you‘ve come back. Really you don‘t deign to notice us any more, you

don‘t associate with us any more, you don‘t join in our conversations, but

you‘ve changed all of a sudden and, in short, you have a disdainful air.

(Nigr. 1)

In this initial description of the Student, the word κεηέσξνο evokes the unfavorable image

of a philosopher as someone who walks around with his head stuck in the clouds

uninterested in human affairs, which we have already seen in the Syrian's description of

Dialogue in the Twice Prosecuted and the interlocutor's characterization of Menippus in

the Icaromenippus.58

In terms of the appearance κεηέσξνο in the Nigrinus, Lucian‘s use

58

The LSJ lists as possible meanings for ―κεηέσξνο:‖ raised from the ground, in mid-air, astronomical

phenomena, inflated, in suspense, haughty, and puffed up. The LSJ cites chapter five of the Nigrinus as an

example of ―κεηέσξνο‖ denoting haughtiness or pride. While this meaning is definitely connected to the

Student‘s change in attitude, we cannot discount the other connotations of this word. There are certainly

282

of this adjective looks simultaneously to the Phaedrus and the Clouds, in the former to

Socrates' description of the educative relationship between Pericles and Anaxagoras and

in the latter to the relationship between Socrates and Strepsiades. Read as a double

allusion to the Phaedrus and the Clouds, κεηέσξνο characterizes Nigrinus, not as the

Platonic philosopher he and his Student believe him to be but as the kind of charlatan

philosopher attacked by Lucian in many of his other works.

The Student‘s labeling of Nigrinus as a Platonic philosopher invites us to first

consider the adjective κεηέσξνο in a Platonic light. While κεηέσξνο appears in a variety

of contexts in Plato‘s dialogues, including the Theaetetus and the Republic, Plato‘s use of

κεηέσξνο in the Phaedrus to describe the relationship between Pericles and Anaxagoras

provides an interesting precedent for the relationship between Nigrinus and his Student. 59

According to Socrates‘ definition of rhetoric presented in the Phaedrus, rhetoric is the

skill of persuasion over the soul:

Ἆξ‘ νὖλ νὐ ηὸ κὲλ ὅινλ ἡ ῥεηνξηθὴ ἂλ εἴε ηέρλε ςπραγσγία ηηο δηὰ

ιόγσλ, νὐ κόλνλ ἐλ δηθαζηεξίνηο θαὶ ὅζνη ἄιινη δεκόζηνη ζύιινγνη, ἀιιὰ

θαὶ ἐλ ἰδίνηο

Wouldn‘t rhetoric, in general, be a kind of skillful leading of the soul by

means of words, not only in public gatherings such as law courts, but also

in private meetings. (Phdr., 261a)

As Socrates argues, a skilled speaker‘s education must go beyond reading rhetorical

handbooks to include the study of philosophy. In the midst of this discussion, Socrates

other ways of expressing pride and it is significant that Lucian chooses such a word as κεηέσξνο to be one

of the first descriptive terms employed by the Students. 59

The Theaetetus and the Republic represent other precedents as well. See Theaetetus 175d and Republic

488e and 489c. Unlike in the Theaetetus and the Republic, however, κεηέσξνο speaks to a particular

teacher-Student relationship that is particularly important to understanding what is at stake in the Nigrinus.

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praises Pericles as the best orator, attributing his skill as a speaker to his teacher

Anaxagoras:

Πᾶζαη ὅζαη κεγάιαη ηῶλ ηερλῶλ πξνζδένληαη ἀδνιεζρίαο θαὶ

κεηεσξνινγίαο θύζεσο πέξη· ηὸ γὰξ ὑςειόλνπλ ηνῦην θαὶ πάληῃ

ηειεζηνπξγὸλ ἔνηθελ ἐληεῦζέλ πνζελ εἰζηέλαη. ὃ θαὶ Πεξηθιο πξὸο ηῷ

εὐθπὴο εἶλαη ἐθηήζαην· πξνζπεζὼλ γὰξ νἶκαη ηνηνύηῳ ὄληη Ἀλαμαγόξᾳ,

κεηεσξνινγίαο ἐκπιεζζεὶο θαὶ ἐπὶ θύζηλ λνῦ ηε θαὶ δηαλνίαο ἀθηθόκελνο,

ὧλ δὴ πέξη ηὸλ πνιὺλ ιόγνλ ἐπνηεῖην Ἀλαμαγόξαο, ἐληεῦζελ εἵιθπζελ ἐπὶ

ηὴλ ηῶλ ιόγσλ ηέρλελ ηὸ πξόζθνξν αὐηῆ.

Every area of expertise of any importance requires one to be a windbag

natural scientist with one‘s head in the clouds, since that seems to be

where loftiness of perspective and all-round effectiveness come from.

And Pericles did supplement his natural ability like this. As a result of

falling in with Anaxagoras, who was just that sort of person, I think, he

became infected with this lofty perspective, reached an understanding of

the nature of mind and mindlessness (which Anaxagoras famously used to

discuss a lot), and applied to his rhetorical expertise whatever he gained

from this source that was appropriate. (Phdr., 270a)

According to Socrates‘ definition of rhetoric that preceded this passage, Pericles made

the correct choice to study under a philosopher and not a sophist. Socrates‘ claim that all

skills require ἀδνιεζρίαο (garrulity) and κεηεσξνινγίαο (haughtiness), however, betrays

Socrates‘ praise of Pericles as sarcastic. Though Pericles chose a philosopher for a

teacher, Socrates‘ assertion that Anaxagoras instilled in Pericles the lofty perspective

denoted by κεηεσξνινγία, rather than knowledge, highlights the ultimate failure of

Anaxagoras as a teacher.

As Brisson points out, Socrates‘ characterization of Pericles and Anaxagoras in

this passage is at odds with their portrayals elsewhere in the dialogues.60

To cite just two

examples of the criticism leveled at Pericles: in the Menexenus, Plato attributes Pericles‘

60

See Brisson (1992:65-66).

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famed funeral oration to his lover Aspasia, while in the Protagoras, Socrates charges that

Pericles and speakers like him deliver speeches lacking in substance. Once questioned,

they will go on as if they were bronze bowls ringing indefinitely until the sound has

dampened (ὥζπεξ ηὰ ραιθία πιεγέληα καθξὸλ ἠρεῖ θαὶ ἀπνηείλεη ἐὰλ κὴ ἐπηιάβεηαί ηηο,

Protagoras 329a).61

Socrates likewise undermines the value of Anaxagoras‘ philosophy.

As Socrates states in the Phaedo, his quest to discover the intelligent principle that

organizes the cosmos led him to Anaxagoras and his theory that Mind is the cause of

everything. Although he was initially taken in by this theory, Socrates states that the

natural scientist ultimately failed him:

Ἀπὸ δὴ ζαπκαζηο ἐιπίδνο, ὦ ἑηαῖξε, ᾠρόκελ θεξόκελνο, ἐπεηδὴ πξντὼλ

θαὶ ἀλαγηγλώζθσλ ὁξῶ ἄλδξα ηῷ κὲλ λῷ νὐδὲλ ρξώκελνλ νὐδέ ηηλαο

αἰηίαο ἐπαηηηώκελνλ εἰο ηὸ νὐδὲλ ρξώκελνλ νὐδέ ηηλαο αἰηίαο

ἐπαηηηώκελνλ εἰο ηὸ δηαθνζκεῖλ ηὰ πξάγκαηα, ἀέξαο δὲ θαὶ αἰζέξαο θαὶ

ὕδαηα αἰηηώκελνλ θαὶ ἄιια πνιιὰ θαὶ ἄηνπα.

This wonderful hope was dashed, as I went on reading and saw that the

man made no use of Mind, nor gave it any responsibility for the

management of things, but mentioned as causes air and ether and water

and many other strange things. (Phd. 98b)

In other words, Socrates‘ quest for a metaphysical answer to his question found in

Anaxagoras nothing but arguments based on natural phenomena.

Seen in light of the characterization of Pericles and Anaxagoras elsewhere in the

dialogues, the knowledge that Pericles received from Anaxagoras appears rather suspect.

According to Socrates, Pericles excelled as an orator in part because of Anaxagoras‘

theories on the nature of mind and mindlessness, precisely the theories investigated and

61

In the Meno, Socrates charges Pericles with not having passed his knowledge onto his sons (94a-b), and

in the Gorgias, Socrates charges Pericles with not having made Athens a better city by his rule (503c-d).

Finally, in the Symposium, Pericles is named as Alcibiades other teacher (Symp. 221c-d) and consequently

a foil for Socrates. See Brisson (1992) for a fuller summary of these examples.

285

ultimately rejected by Socrates in the Phaedo. Socrates‘ dismissal of Anaxagoras‘

theories because they failed to answer his questions suggests that what Pericles learned

from Anaxagoras was equally useless. Moreover, his description of Anaxagoras‘

teachings as resulting in κεηεσξνινγίαο further emphasizes the failure of Anaxagoras as a

teacher. In other words, Pericles may be a better speaker than Lysias because he

followed a philosopher, but he still fails to live up to Socrates‘ views of what an orator

should be.

As a key point of contact between the Nigrinus and the Phaedrus, the adjective

κεηέσξνο not only characterizes Nigrinus‘ Student as arrogant, but also describes the

Student and Nigrinus‘ approach to philosophy. Despite his friend‘s censure of his

arrogant attitude, the Student is proud to be κεηέσξνο:

πξντὼλ δὲ ἐο ηόδε πεξηήρζελ, ὅπεξ ἀξηίσο ἡκῖλ ἐπεθάιεηο· γαῦξόο ηε γὰξ

ὑπὸ ηνῦ ιόγνπ θαὶ κεηέσξόο εἰκη θαὶ ὅισο κηθξὸλ νὐθέηη νὐδὲλ ἐπηλνῶ·

I eventually progressed to the point you accused me a few moments ago of

being at. I‘m arrogant and have my head in the clouds as a result of what

Nigrinus said, and I scarcely notice little things any more. (Nigr. 5)

For the Student, the lofty position denoted by κεηέσξνο signifies his intellectual

superiority over his companion. As the Student‘s enthusiasm for Nigrinus makes clear,

Nigrinus represents the source of the Student‘s newfound perspective, and it is therefore

not surprising that κεηέσξνο is a facet of Nigrinus‘ philosophy. For Nigrinus, life in

Rome is one of solitude and philosophical reflection:

πξνηηζέκελνο αὐηῆ θηινζνθίᾳ θαὶ Πιάησλη θαὶ ἀιεζείᾳ πξνζιαιῶ, θαὶ

θαζίζαο ἐκαπηὸλ ὥζπεξ ἐλ ζεάηξῳ κπξηάλδξῳ ζθόδξα πνπ κεηέσξνο

ἐπηζθνπῶ ηὰ γηγλόκελα, ηνῦην κὲλ πνιιὴλ ςπραγσγίαλ θαὶ γέισηα

παξέρεηλ δπλάκελα, ηνῦην δὲ θαὶ πεῖξαλ ἀλδξὸο ὡο ἀιεζῶο βεβαίνπ

286

ιαβεῖλ.

I pass the time in conversation with philosophy, Plato, and the truth, and

by seating myself really high up, as it were, in a packed theatre to watch

what goes on. This can give me a great deal of entertainment and

amusement, but it also has the capacity to test a man‘s resolve. (Nigr. 18)

Scholars have typically interpreted this portion of Nigrinus‘ speech and specifically his

use of κεηέσξνο as denoting the katascopia used by Cynics and followers of Menippus to

highlight the problems of the world around them.62

Like his Student, Nigrinus sees

himself as above everyone else, but for Nigrinus Plato inspired his κεηέσξνο perspective,

while for the Student, Nigrinus is the sole cause. By using Nigrinus‘ term to describe

himself, the Student shows a desire to emulate his teacher. In his emulation of his

teacher, however, the philosophical posturing denoted by κεηέσξνο is what ultimately

lies at the heart of his arrogance.

As a backdrop to the Student‘s newfound lofty perspective, the Phaedrus begins

to deepen our understanding of the teacher-Student relationship in the Nigrinus. Though

both texts present similar educative relationships, namely a non-philosopher learning

from a philosopher, they focus on different aspects of that relationship. As Socrates

explains, Pericles studied under Anaxagoras to become a better orator and the emphasis

here is on why Pericles associated with Anaxagoras rather than the actual teachings he

received from him. This is not the case in Lucian‘s text. Lucian‘s choice to open the

dialogue with the friend‘s complaints about the Student‘s arrogance indicates that

Lucian‘s focus is not on why the Student has visited Nigrinus but rather on the results of

62

It is important to note here that, though scholars have assumed that Nigrinus is actually sitting at the top

of the theater, what Nigrinus in fact says is more ambiguous. The fact that he states that conversing with

Plato, Philosophy, and the Truth is like (ὥζπεξ) sitting at the top of the theater leaves open the possibility

that this is merely an analogy and that Nigrinus is as much guilty of intellectual posturing as his Student.

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Nigrinus‘ teachings.

As an allusion to the Clouds, however, κεηέσξνο addresses the question of the

effects of Nigrinus‘ teachings at the same time as it adds a more comic tone to the

relationship of Nigrinus and the Student. While Pericles and Anaxagoras represent one

foil for the relationship between Nigrinus and the Student, Strepsiades and Socrates

represent another. In the context of the Clouds, κεηέσξνο is primarily associated with the

figure of Socrates. As Socrates first descends onto the stage, for example, he explains to

the inquisitive Strepsiades that in order to understand celestial matters, one must first

suspend the intellect:

νὐ γὰξ ἄλ πνηε

ἐμεῦξνλ ὀξζῶο ηὰ κεηέσξα πξάγκαηα

εἰ κὴ θξεκάζαο ηὸ λόεκα θαὶ ηὴλ θξνληίδα,

ιεπηὴλ θαηακείμαο εἰο ηὸλ ὅκνηνλ ἀέξα

Why, for accurate investigation of meteorological phenomena it is

indispensable to get one‘s thoughts into a state of suspension and mix

its minute particles into the air, which they so closely resemble.

(Clouds, 227-229)

Interpretations of Aristophanes‘ portrayal of Socrates tend to view him as an

amalgamation of a Pre-Socratic philosopher interested primarily in natural questions and

a sophist.63

For Socrates, κεηέσξνο thus represents an important facet of the arguments

he espouses and Aristophanes, in fact, places the word almost exclusively in Socrates‘

mouth, with a notable exception being Strepsiades‘ wrangling with his creditors at the

63

For a discussion of the figure of Socrates, see the introduction to Dover‘s commentary on the Clouds

(1989: xxxii-lvi).

288

end of the play. 64

As I will suggest, this particular scene serves as a precedent for the

Student‘s misappropriation of Nigrinus‘ teachings. In the context of the Clouds, Socrates

has two students, one of whom, Strepsiades, he brands a failure, and expels from his

school, and another, Pheidippides, who emerges as a successful pupil, albeit a dangerous

one. Since κεηέσξνο appears primarily in exchanges between Socrates and Strepsiades,

my focus will therefore be on the educative relationship between Socrates and

Strepsiades.

Strepsiades goes to Socrates to learn the type of crafty argumentation that will

allow him to evade his debts.65

Though the arguments of Socrates and the Clouds

continually amaze Strepsiades, Socrates expresses frustration at Strepsiades‘ inability to

learn:

κὰ ηὴλ Ἀλαπλνήλ, κὰ ηὸ Χάνο, κὰ ηὸλ Ἀέξα,

νὐθ εἶδνλ νὕησο ἄλδξ‘ ἄγξνηθνλ νὐδακνῦ

νὐδ‘ ἄπνξνλ νὐδὲ ζθαηὸλ νὐδ‘ ἐπηιήζκνλα,

ὅζηηο ζθαιαζπξκάηη‘ ἄηηα κηθξὰ καλζάλσλ

ηαῦη‘ ἐπηιέιεζηαη πξὶλ καζεῖλ.

In the name of Respiration and Chaos and Air and all that‘s holy, I‘ve

never met such a clueless stupid forgetful bumpkin in all my life! The

most trifling little think I teach him, he forgets before he‘s even learnt

it! (Cl. 626-629)

This frustration comes to a head when Strepsiades, after successfully answering several

questions about how to evade creditors, offers suicide as a potential solution, to which

64

Besides Socrates‘ entrance, Socrates incorporates κεηέσξνο into his arguments at lines 264, 266, 333,

and 490. He also uses the verbal form, κεηεσξηζζεὶο, at line 404. In addition to Socrates‘ use of κεηέσξνο,

κεηέσξνο appears in the mouth of the chorus at line 360 in the compound form, κεηεσξνζνθηζηῶλ. 65

When asked by Socrates why he has come to the Thinkery, Strepsiades responds: ―βνπιόκελνο καζεῖλ

ιέγεηλ· / ὑπὸ γὰξ ηόθσλ ρξήζησλ ηε δπζθνισηάησλ / ἄγνκαη, θέξνκαη, ηὰ ρξήκαη‘ ἐλερπξάδνκαη,‖ (I want

to be made an orator. Interest bills and heartless creditors are laying me waste with fire, the sword, and

distress warrants, Cl. 240).

289

Socrates responds: νὐθ εἰο θόξαθαο ἀπνθζεξεῖ, / ἐπηιεζκόηαηνλ θαὶ ζθαηόηαηνλ γεξόληην

(Oh, to hell with you, you old amnesiac fool! Cl. 789-90) and expels him from the

Thinkery.

Despite this, Strepsiades retains some of what his teacher has taught him. At the

end of the play, after Pheidippides has returned from the Thinkery, Strepsiades is

confronted by his creditors and seeks to escape his debts by employing the type of logic

he learned from Socrates. In the course of being accosted by his creditors, Strepsiades

turns specifically to meteorological arguments: πῶο νὖλ ἀπνιαβεῖλ ηἀξγύξηνλ δίθαηνο εἶ,

/ εἰ κεδὲλ νἶζζα ηῶλ κεηεώξσλ πξαγκάησλ; (Then how can you claim the right to have

your money, if you have no knowledge of meteorological arguments?‖ (Clouds, 1283-4).

In the exchange that follows, one of the creditors attempts to explain to Strepsiades how

he owes interest on the debt, only to be confused with questions concerning the amount

of water in the sea:

{Χξ.} ζὺ δὲ λὴ ηὸλ ξκλ πξνζθεθιήζεζζαί γ‘ ἐκνί,

εἰ κὴ ‘πνδώζεηο ηἀξγύξηνλ.

{Ση.} θάηεηπέ λπλ·

πόηεξα λνκίδεηο θαηλὸλ αἰεὶ ηὸλ Δία

ὕεηλ ὕδσξ ἑθάζηνη‘, ἢ ηὸλ ἥιηνλ

ἕιθεηλ θάησζελ ηαὐηὸ ηνῦζ‘ ὕδσξ πάιηλ;

{Χξ.} νὐθ νἶδ‘ ἔγσγ‘ ὁπόηεξνλ, νὐδέ κνη κέιεη.

{Ση.} πῶο νὖλ ἀπνιαβεῖλ ηἀξγύξηνλ δίθαηνο εἶ,

εἰ κεδὲλ νἶζζα ηῶλ κεηεώξσλ πξαγκάησλ;

Second Creditor: I’m fairly sure that you‘re going to get a summons from

me, if you don‘t pay up.

Strepsiades: Tell me now: do you think that when Zeus rains, it‘s new rain

every time, or do you think the sun sucks up water from the ground so that

he can use it again?

Second Creditor: I don‘t know and I don‘t care.

Strepsiades: Then how can you claim the right to have your money back,

if you have no knowledge of meteorology? (Clouds, 1275-1282)

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Although Strepsiades is unable to learn from Socrates the type of sophistic argumentation

he is seeking, he nonetheless mimics his teacher‘s meteorological arguments. These

arguments, however, ultimately fail Strepsiades, forcing him to resort to violence. As this

passage illustrates, especially when read in light of Socrates‘ entrance and the ensuing

arguments he makes, Strepsiades has not learnt from Socrates the art of dodging debts but

has managed to mimic Socratic style of argumentation. Yet as he learns in his encounter

with his creditors, this style of argumentation has no value in the real world and he is

forced to resort to violence.

The teacher-student relationship between Socrates and Strepsiades represents an

important parallel for that of Nigrinus and his Student. Like Strepsiades, the Student

seeks to emulate his teacher. As I have argued, we can find precedents for the type of

language employed by the Student in Nigrinus‘ speech, in particular the role that

κεηέσξνο plays in defining their approaches to philosophy. For Nigrinus, κεηέσξνο

represents physical elevation and consequently separation as well as a certain degree of

intellectual posturing. As he sits at the top of the theater, he sees himself as conversing

with philosophy and truth, a fact that causes him to disdain the behavior of those below

him. When filtered through the Student, however, κεηέσξνο no longer retains any

physical connotations but has become mere intellectual posturing and arrogance in

relation to his friend. Like the transfer of ideas from Socrates to Strepsiades in the

Clouds, Nigrinus‘ arguments appear ridiculous in his own mouth but their bastardization

by the Student further highlights their lack of substance. As an allusion to the Clouds, the

focus of κεηέσξνο is less on Nigrinus‘ role as a philosopher, than on the effects of their

291

transference on the Student. Like Strepsiades, the Student mimics his teacher to no avail,

for as Clay has already pointed out, he is not the philosophical convert he believes

himself to be, but instead an absurd figure that incites our laughter.66

As his friend‘s complaints make clear, Nigrinus‘ effect on the Student is not

necessarily good and a discussion of them consumes the rest of the dialogue. For the

Student, as I have already mentioned, Nigrinus and his words have become the guiding

principle of his life: θαζάπεξ ἐλ πειάγεη θαὶ λπθηὶ πνιιῆ θεξόκελνο, ἐο ππξζόλ ηηλα

ηνῦηνλ ἀπνβιέπσ (I‘m like a sailor riding the sea at night: Nigrinus is like a beacon that I

look to for guidance. Nigr. 7) Such a claim whets his companion‘s appetite, as well as our

own, to hear Nigrinus‘ words. Much to his companion‘s exasperation, the Student stalls

as he worries that he will not do his teacher and himself justice. As he sees himself, he is

an actor performing Nigrinus‘ speech for his friend:

Δέδνηθα κή ζνη κεηαμὺ δόμσ γεινίσο αὐηὰ κηκεῖζζαη, ηὰ κὲλ ἀηάθησο

ζπλείξσλ, ἐλίνηε δὲ θαὶ αὐηὸλ ὑπ‘ ἀζζελείαο ηὸλ λνῦλ δηαθζείξσλ, θᾆηα

πξναρζῆο ἠξέκα θαὶ αὐηνῦ θαηαγλῶλαη ην δξάκαηνο.

I‘m afraid that while I‘m talking I might do a passable imitation of people

like these, and make a fool of myself. I might put some things in the

wrong order, and sometimes spoil the ideas themselves through my own

feebleness. If I do, you might gradually become inclined to despise the

play itself.

Lucian employs the Student‘s fervor for Nigrinus and lack of confidence to heighten our

anticipation for what philosophical truths Nigrinus‘ speech will hold. Nigrinus‘ speech,

however, contains nothing more than common characterizations of Athens and Rome.

Lucian thus sets Nigrinus and his philosophy on a pedestal only to knock it off.

66

In a sense, Lucian incites in us our own κεηέσξνο perspective regarding Nigrinus and his Student.

292

The double allusion found in κεηέσξνο presents us with two foils for the character

of Nigrinus: Anaxagoras in the Phaedrus and Socrates in the Clouds. Nigrinus‘

philosophy, like that of Anaxagoras, lacks substance. As I have argued, Lucian

characterizes Nigrinus as a failed philosopher much like Socrates‘ characterization of

Anaxagoras, yet there is something rather peculiar about Nigrinus that differentiates him

from Anaxagoras. For, while Anaxagoras associated with such public figures as Pericles,

Nigrinus is described as a recluse. In his account of his visit to Nigrinus, the Student

notes that he found Nigrinus alone in his study, surrounded by busts of dead philosophers

(Nigr. 2).67

This image of Nigrinus is supported by Nigrinus himself at the opening of

the speech, where he admits to shutting himself off from society and conversing only

with ―philosophy, Plato, and the truth‖ (Nigr.18).68

Nigrinus, in fact, goes so far as to

call his way of life ―womanish:‖ ηὸ ινηπὸλ νἰθνπξεῖλ εἱιόκελ θαὶ βίνλ ηηλὰ ηνῦηνλ

γπλαηθώδε θαὶ ἄηνικνλ ηνῖο πνιινῖο δνθνῦληα, (I chose to live out the rest of my days at

home, and I took on this womanish sort of existence that most people think is cowardly.)

As Nigrinus‘ own statements make clear, Anaxagoras is an appropriate foil only in terms

of his characterization as a failed philosopher and teacher.

In addition to evoking the figure of Anaxagoras, κεηέσξνο also calls to mind

Socrates of the Clouds as a potential point of comparison for Nigrinus. There are, in fact,

certain similarities between the Aristophanes‘ portrayal of Socrates and Lucian‘s

characterization of Nigrinus. Many scholars have noted, in particular Dover, that

67

The Student describes his initial impression of Nigrinus as follows: ―θαὶ παξειζὼλ εἴζσ θαηαιακβάλσ

ηὸλ κὲλ ἐλ ρεξζὶ βηβιίνλ ἔρνληα, πνιιὰο δὲ εἰθόλαο παιαηῶλ θηινζόθσλ ἐλ θύθιῳ θεηκέλαο.‖ (I went in

and found him with a book in his hands, surrounded by portrait-busts of the ancient philosophers.) 68

I have quoted the majority of the passage above.

293

Aristophanes‘ representation of Socrates is an amalgamation of stereotypes of the Pre-

Socratic philosophers as well as those of sophists.69

Nigrinus is likewise a figure that has

roots in several different traditions. As I have suggested, though Nigrinus espouses

stereotypical views of the moral philosophers of his day, Lucian incorporates Homeric

allusions and theatrical language that suggests that he is not unlike a sophist. In addition

to this, Aristophanes‘ portrayal of Socrates and his Thinkery indicates that Socrates and

his followers are removed from society, and I would like to suggest that Nigrinus‘

seclusion is along similar lines.70

Lucian‘s choice to structure his comic dialogues in

such a way as to have a serious philosophical surface that hides more comic elements

precludes Nigrinus from having an overtly humorous or ridiculous nature. It is only after

careful attention is paid not only to the arguments he makes but also to the very language

of those arguments that Nigrinus begins to appear less like a philosopher worthy of our

admiration and more like a charlatan philosopher whom Lucian incites us to scorn.

As a description of the effects of Nigrinus‘ teachings, κεηέσξνο characterizes

Nigrinus‘ philosophy, like that of Anaxagoras in the Phaedrus and Socrates in the

Clouds, as lacking in substance. The Student, however, did not come up with this term

on his own, but, like the image of the Sirens, appropriated it from Nigrinus‘ teachings.

As Nigrinus describes his philosophical practices, he removes himself from society,

choosing instead to converse with Plato and philosophy as he sits at the top of theatre

observing the depravity of those below him. Nigrinus‘ use of Plato to characterize his

69

See Dover‘s discussion of Socrates (1989: xxxii-lvi). 70

I do not want, however, to suggest that Nigrinus is necessarily directly modeled exclusively off of

Socrates in the Clouds, but rather that the two figures share similar characteristics.

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life as a philosopher signals a self-fashioning on his part as Platonic and suggests that the

language employed here should be viewed as such. As Nigrinus claims, his κεηέσξνο

perspective offers him enjoyment in the form of ςπραγσγία. This enjoyment that

Nigrinus receives from the lofty perspective that conversing with Plato evokes, however,

characterizes him in the specific language of Socrates‘ definition of rhetoric found in the

Phaedrus. As Nigrinus‘ use of this word makes clear, rhetoric has a very different

purpose in Nigrinus‘ time than in Socrates‘. According to Socrates‘ discussion of orators

in the Phaedrus, sophists and rhetoricians used rhetoric both in the political arena and

more private affairs. By Lucian‘s time, those who practiced the skill of rhetoric, namely

sophists, with a few exceptions were no longer doing so in the political arena, but rather

for purposes of entertainment.71

Nigrinus‘ appropriation of ςπραγσγία highlights this

change. As Lucian indicates in this passage, Nigrinus is a follower not of philosophy but

of rhetoric. Though Nigrinus may call himself a follower of Plato, Lucian shows this to

be impossible. For, even if he is a follower of rhetoric, rhetoric has lost the serious role

Socrates once attributed to it and taken on the role of entertainment.

As Lucian‘s use of κεηέσξνο and ςπραγσγία within Nigrinus‘ speech makes

clear, Nigrinus is ultimately nothing more than a sophist calling himself a philosopher.

This characterization of Nigrinus is never clearer than in the type of student that Nigrinus

has inspired. In his letter to Nigrinus, Lucian focuses on the effects of Nigrinus‘

teachings to illustrate what type of Student he has produced, namely a fanatic, and as

Clay argues, he is a fanatic of rhetoric. Though Clay‘s discussion of the Nigrinus focuses

71

Dio represents an obvious exception to this rule.

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almost solely on the figure of the Student, Lucian‘s allusion to the Phaedrus and the

Clouds in Nigrinus‘ speech indicates Nigrinus is no different. For the Student, his

discussion with Nigrinus opened the eyes of his soul, thus indicating that Nigrinus‘

rhetoric possess the power of ―ςπραγσγία.‖ As Lucian‘s characterization of the Student

shows, the changes Nigrinus inspired in the Student have made him ridiculous and

worthy of censure in the eyes of his friend. Nigrinus‘ rhetoric does not produce

philosophers but rather comical figures that walk around with their heads in the clouds.

Nigrinus‘ devotion to Plato thus becomes for Lucian a corrective tool and it is ultimately

through his own reliance on Plato that Lucian reveals Nigrinus‘ true colors.

As we have seen, though not usually grouped among Lucian‘s common dialogues,

the Nigrinus fits the requirements established by Lucian in the Literary Prometheus and

Lucian‘s use of the adjective κεηέσξνο exemplifies his ability to unite the two genres.

While the Nigrinus has a clear philosophical surface, which like Prometheus‘ fat entices

us, Lucian‘s use of the adjective κεηέσξνο as a double allusion to the Phaedrus and the

Clouds indicates that we should look beyond the philosophical outer layer of the text.

For as κεηέσξνο suggests, Nigrinus‘ failure to impart anything meaningful to the Student

calls into question his very role as a philosopher. In my final section, I will look more

broadly at how the Phaedrus informs the structure of the Nigrinus and how we can now

reevaluate the philosophical surface of the text.

IV. Conclusions: the Phaedrus and the Nigrinus

As we saw in the preceding section, Lucian uses the adjective κεηέσξνο to

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highlight Nigrinus‘ failure as a teacher of philosophy and to challenge his claims to be a

philosopher. In addition to the similarity between Nigrinus and such figures as

Anaxagoras and Socrates of the Clouds, as I have suggested earlier, there is a certain

structural similarity between Nigrinus, whose words are being relayed by a fanatical

Student, and the figure of Lysias in the Phaedrus. In this section I will look more

broadly at the similarities both between the two texts and between characters. I will

argue that the likenesses between the Phaedrus and the Nigrinus are an essential part of

the Nigrinus’ philosophical outer layer. For it is through a comparison with the Phaedrus

that we can begin to see Lucian casting himself in the role of Plato as the author of the

text and founder of the new genre of the comic dialogue.

In such dialogues as the Phaedrus, Socrates‘ interlocutors are lucky to have

Socrates steer them away from following such errant figures as Lysias. In Lucian‘s

Nigrinus, however, the Student lacks a Socrates figure to guide him away from the Sirens

that are Nigrinus‘ words. While his companion plays the Socratic role, he does so only in

the sense that he incites the Student to relate Nigrinus‘ speech, like Socrates in the

Phaedrus, and at times responds ironically to what the Student has to say. Although

admittedly there are no clear verbal allusions in any of the comments that the companion

makes (not to mention that his role in the dialogue is rather minor), he displays a certain

amount of incredulity and sarcasm at his friend‘s experience typical of Socrates himself.

As I have already quoted above, Socrates declares upon hearing Phaedrus recite Lysias‘

speech that he began to share in Phaedrus‘ enthusiasm for Lysias‘ speech. If the irony of

Socrates‘ statement is not clear, Phaedrus does not leave us in doubt it when he asks

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Socrates, Εἶελ· νὕησ δὴ δνθεῖ παίδεηλ; (Hmmm…does it strike you as something to joke

about like this? Phdr. 234d) Like Socrates, the Student‘s companion asserts that

Nigrinus‘ speech has brought on a kind of madness in him:

Ὡο ζεκλὰ θαὶ ζαπκάζηα θαὶ ζεῖά γε, ὦ ἑηαῖξε, δηειήιπζαο, ἐιειήζεηο δέ κε

πνιιο ὡο ἀιεζῶο ηο ἀκβξνζίαο θαὶ ηνῦ ισηνῦ θεθνξεζκέλνο· ὥζηε θαὶ

κεηαμὺ ζνῦ ιέγνληνο ἔπαζρόλ ηη ἐλ ηῆ ςπρῆ, θαὶ παπζακέλνπ ἄρζνκαη θαὶ

ἵλα δὴ θαὶ θαηὰ ζὲ εἴπσ, ηέηξσκαη· θαὶ κὴ ζαπκάζῃο· νἶζζα γὰξ ὅηη θαὶ νἱ

πξὸο ηῶλ θπλῶλ ηῶλ ιπζζώλησλ δερζέληεο νὐθ αὐηνὶ κόλνη ιπζζῶζηλ,

ἀιιὰ θἄλ ηηλαο ἑηέξνπο [θαὶ αὐηνὶ] ἐλ ηῆ καλίᾳ ηὸ αὐηὸ ηνῦην δηαζῶζηλ,

θαὶ νὗηνη ἔθθξνλεο γίγλνληαη· ζπκκεηαβαίλεη γάξ ηη ηνῦ πάζνπο ἅκα ηῷ

δήγκαηη θαὶ πνιπγνλεῖηαη ἡ λόζνο θαὶ πνιιὴ γίγλεηαη ηο καλίαο δηαδνρή.

What a noble, marvelous, --yes, divine tale you have told, my dear fellow!

I did not realize it, but you certainly were chock-full of your ambrosia and

your lotus! The consequence is that as you talked I felt something like a

change of heart and now that you have stopped I am put out: to speak in

your own style, I am wounded. And no wonder! For you know that

people bitten by mad dogs not only go mad themselves but if in their fury

they treat others as the dogs treated them, the others take leave of their

senses too. Something of the affection is transmitted with the bite; the

disease multiplies, and there is a great run of madness. (Nigr. 38)

Anderson says of this passage that, despite such imagery, Lucian intends the bite of a

mad dog to be a compliment to Nigrinus.72

Yet, as Anderson notes, elsewhere in

Lucian‘s corpus the image of mad dog is not as complimentary as he would read it here.

At the end of the Hermotimus, to use one of Anderson‘s examples, Hermotimus declares

that he will avoid a philosopher just as he avoids a mad dog: θηινζόθῳ δὲ εἰο ηὸ ινηπὸλ

θἂλ ἄθσλ πνηὲ ὁδῷ βαδίδσλ ἐληύρσ, νὕησο ἐθηξαπήζνκαη θαὶ πεξηζηήζνκαη ὥζπεξ ηνὺο

ιπηηῶληαο ηῶλ θπλῶλ, (Henceforth, if I meet a philosopher on my walks (and it will not

be with my will), I shall turn aside and avoid him as I would a mad dog, Herm. 86). In

72

Anderson says the following about this passage: ―The comparison of Nigrinus‘ speech to the bite of a

mad dog might seem uncomplimentary (cf. Herm. 86), but the author of De Saltatione uses it as a

compliment,‖ (1978: n. 18).

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light of this example from the Hermotimus, I disagree with Anderson‘s analysis of this

passage. As Clay has already pointed out, it is clear that Lucian satirizes the Student‘s

frenzy for Nigrinus in the embedded dialogue.73

In this context, it makes little sense for

that frenzy suddenly to become a point of praise for Nigrinus, and it is hard not to read

the companion‘s final statements as anything but ironic. Like Socrates in the Phaedrus,

he too claims that the madness has spread. Unlike Phaedrus, however, this is lost on the

Student and he asks his companion: Οὐθνῦλ θαὶ αὐηὸο ἡκῖλ ἐξᾶλ ὁκνινγεῖο; (Then you

admit your madness? Nigr. 38)

As a paradigm for the figure of the Student, Phaedrus exhibits a passion for

Lysias, the extent of which is only revealed when Socrates calls into question the value of

the arguments espoused by Lysias (Phaedrus, 235a-b). In the context of the Nigrinus,

however, Lucian leaves no hope that the Student will realize the error of his ways, as his

friend‘s incredulity is completely lost on him. In addition to this, Lucian ends the

Nigrinus where we might expect, if we have the Phaedrus in mind, a discussion of

Nigrinus‘ speech to ensue. Since no attempts are made to correct the Student, it would

seem that in the context of the text the real object of correction is not the Student, but

ironically the presumed reader and protagonist of his text, Nigrinus himself.

Irony thus colors the end of the Nigrinus. When asked how they should treat this

madness, the Student replies that they should do as Telephus did and go back to the

source of the illness:

Student: Τὸ ηνῦ ἄξα Τειέθνπ ἀλάγθε πνηεῖλ.

Companion: Πνῖνλ αὖ ιέγεηο;

73

Clay (1992: 3423-3424).

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Student: πὶ ηὸλ ηξώζαληα ἐιζόληαο ἰᾶζζαη παξαθαιεῖλ.

Student: We must do as Telephus did, I suppose.

Companion: What‘s your meaning now?

Student: Go to the man who inflicted the wound and beg him to heal us!

(Nigr. 38)

The context of the dialogue between these two figures and for that matter Nigrinus‘

speech is the letter that opened the Nigrinus. As a rather witty conclusion to this letter,

Lucian here has the Student declare that they must return to Nigrinus because that is

precisely the destination of the letter.

With its proclamation that the two participants in the dialogue should return to

Nigrinus, the end of the Nigrinus demands that we go back to the prefatory letter. By the

end of Lucian‘s letter to Nigrinus, and by this I now mean the work as a whole, Lucian‘s

opinion of Nigrinus is crystal clear. He is nothing more than another Lysias, who has not

inspired in his follower a passion for philosophy but a passion for Nigrinus himself. In

addition to this, Lucian uses the adjective κεηέσξνο to evoke two failed educative

relationships: that of Strepsiades and Socrates in the Clouds and that of Pericles and

Anaxagoras in the Phaedrus, both of which highlight Nigrinus‘ own failure as a teacher.

Nigrinus may have brought philosophy into the Student‘s line of sight, much like

Anaxagoras instilled Pericles with questions about mind and mindlessness, but he

ultimately did not inspire a philosophical conversion in the Student.74

As such, it is

impossible to read the Nigrinus as anything but Lucian‘s critique of Nigrinus‘

philosophical method, and this is supported by the fact that his speech lacks any

philosophical ingenuity. Ingenuity, in fact, is located solely in the figure of Lucian

74

For the failure of the Student‘s conversion see Clay (1992:3423-3424) and Whitmarsh (2001:275-8).

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himself. Lucian‘s passion for philosophical arguments (ὁ πξὸο ηνὺο ιόγνπο ἔξσο) is not

a passion for Nigrinus‘ arguments but speaks rather to the lack of good philosophers in

Lucian‘s time. As the founder of the philosophical dialogue, Plato represents a source of

ingenuity for Lucian. Though Nigrinus is labeled as a Platonic philosopher, his cliché

descriptions of Athens and Rome show that he is anything but like Plato.

Lucian‘s imitation of the Phaedrus within the embedded dialogue further speaks

to this point. With the exception of the κεηέσξνο allusion, the similarities between the

two texts come from the discussion surrounding Lysias‘ speech. It is important to notice

that Lucian focuses solely on the parts that describe the effects of Lysias‘ speech on

Phaedrus as well as Socrates. His imitation of the dialogue stops once Socrates begins to

show Phaedrus, through question and answering, the flaws of Lysias‘ argument.

Moreover, the text excludes any reference to the two speeches Socrates offers Phaedrus

to compare and ultimately to prefer to that of Lysias. Though Lucian alludes to Plato

throughout the Nigrinus, and not just to the Phaedrus, the embedded dialogue cannot

ultimately be seen as Platonic because it lacks any imitation of the Socratic elenchus. It

is this lack that ultimately illustrates the void left behind by Nigrinus and his philosophy.

In the context of the Phaedrus, Socrates is able to successfully instill in Phaedrus

a love of philosophy, yet Lucian does not provide us with such a resolution. Instead, he

leaves open the question if we, his readers, will fall into the trap of Nigrinus or follow

Lucian‘s new way of conducting philosophy, namely uniting philosophy with Old

Comedy and using it as a lens through separate the true philosophers from the fake. As a

letter to Nigrinus, the Nigrinus not only allows Nigrinus to experience his own words like

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his dictum regarding the song of the Sirens, but it also allows Lucian to highlight for a

broader audience the failures of a philosopher such as Nigrinus at the same time as he

one-ups Nigrinus when it comes to a love of Plato. Nigrinus might claim to follow in

Plato's footsteps, but it is Lucian‘s Nigrinus as a whole and its use of such dialogues as

the Symposium and Phaedrus as well as its incorporation of elements from Old Comedy

that allows Lucian to assert his own devotion to Plato and to proclaim himself the

defender of philosophy.

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Conclusion:

A Brief Look at What Happened to the Comic Dialogue

The preceding chapters have examined Lucian’s comic dialogues with the clarity of

hindsight, which has revealed Lucian’s philosophical approach to be grounded in Old

Comedy, the social critique that it offered, and its portrayal of Socrates. Now, I want to

look forward and consider briefly what happened to the Lucianic dialogue in the

centuries after his death. My dissertation’s primary contribution, I believe, has been to

disentangle Lucian’s hybrid genre, which has allowed us to approach with greater

precision Lucian’s relationship to philosophy: his attacks on philosophers are not directed

at philosophy per se but at its bastardization and degradation by contemporary

philosophical schools. Previously understood as solely a Cynic, perhaps with Skeptic or

Epicurean leanings, Lucian, at least the Lucian viewed through the lens of this study,

called for a return to the Socratic search for knowledge by reinventing the genre of the

philosophical dialogue. In light of Lucian’s attempts to establish his comic dialogues as a

philosophical approach worthy of emulation in their own right, I want to see what, if any,

impact Lucian’s comic dialogue had on his ancient reader and thus I intend to explore

how Lucian’s reception of comedy and philosophy was itself received. Although this is

too large a topic to be examined sufficiently here, and in fact one best suited for a study

in its own right, I want to briefly examine the comic dialogue’s reception in the

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Byzantine era, taking one text, The Patriot or Student, as a test case in order to articulate

how my approach will be useful for future study.1 As I will show, this text adopts

Lucian’s union of Aristophanic comedy and Platonic dialogue to argue not for the

Lucianic purpose of philosophical questioning but instead Christian doctrine.

Transmitted among the manuscripts of Lucian, the Patriot is of uncertain

authorship, date, and purpose. Despite this uncertainty, some have suggested that it was

penned during reign of Julian or, more likely, later in the Byzantine period. 2

In addition

to this, the dialogue has been conversely interpreted as anti-Christian, anti-pagan, and as

mocking both religions.3 For the purposes of this discussion, I will accept Hilhorst’s

suggestion that the author of this text in fact takes a “Christian stand,” an argument which

is based on a careful reexamination of the treatment of several Biblical references in this

work.4 While Baldwin has already chronicled the wealth of Lucianic allusions found in

this dialogue, I will focus my attention on how the author of this dialogue employs

Lucian, in particular his use Aristophanic comedy for philosophical purposes, to promote

Christianity as a truer source of knowledge than pagan philosophy. As I will contend, the

author of this dialogue mimics Lucian’s philosophical reinvention of Aristophanic

comedy by reworking Lucian’s genre for a new Christian purpose.

Before I begin my discussion, however, I will first provide a brief summary of the

text. The Patriot opens with a scene familiar to us from Lucian’s Icaromenippus,

Parasite, and Hermotimus: the Christian Triepho encounters his pagan friend, Critias, 1 From this point forward, I will refer to this text as the Patriot.

2 For a discussion of the problems surrounding dating this manuscript, see Baldwin (1982: 322-3),

3 For a summary of the dating issues surrounding this text, see Baldwin (1982: 322-3). For the dialogue’s

treatment of Christianity, see Baldwin (1982:343) and Hilhorst (1993:39). 4 Hilhorst (1993: 39).

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who is himself lost in thought. From Triepho’s interrogation about Critias’ unusual

demeanor, we learn that it is the result of the latter’s frustration with his professors

(ζνθηζηλ, 2).5 Although we, as readers of Lucian, might expect further exploration of

these problematic figures, the discussion that ensues covers a range of topics including

the problematic conduct of the pagan gods (4-11), the Trinity (12), and an unusual

encounter that Critias had with a gathering of naysayers about the future of the empire

(20-27).6 These pessimists, however, are eventually refuted when a messenger appears

and reports that the Emperor has been victorious in battle. The dialogue then concludes

with both men thanking heaven for the Emperor’s success.

If we read the opening of the Patriot in tandem with Lucian’s dialogues, we can

begin to see how the author casts Critias as a Hermotimus or Menippus and Triepho as a

Lucianic and, therefore, Socratic interlocutor. Like his Lucianic predecessors, Critias

initially appears interested in philosophy, a characterization reinforced by a variety of

Platonic allusions surrounding his character. The most obvious of these is his name,

which by its very nature recalls Socrates’ interlocutor in such dialogues as the Timaeus-

Critias, and potentially the Charmides.7 In addition to this, when we first meet him, he is

lost in thought in a manner that evokes Socrates’ behavior on his way to Agathon’s house

5 For a discussion of the significance of this word during the later period, see Baldwin (1982:328).

6 This could refer to the resolution of the Cappadocian Fathers, famously expressed in the Nicene Creed,

that the Trinity comprises three persons (hypostases) in one substance (ousia). For further discussion, see

McGrath (2006). 7 There remains disagreement among scholars of Plato whether the Critias of the Charmides is the same as

that of the Timaeus and Critias, but this is most likely a modern, not an ancient debate. There is no way to

tell whether the author of the Patriot would have had the same reservations. For a discussion of this issue,

see Labarbe (1989) and Nails (2002). I disagree here with Baldwin who suggests “an identification of this

character with the most vehement critic of mythological folly, Lucian himself. Perhaps the author uses the

figure of Lucian kritikos both to assail modern enemies and also to show that the shrewd and critical pagan

could come to appreciate the truths of Christianity.” (1982:341).

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and Alcibiades’ subsequent description of him at Potidea found in the Symposium (174d-

e and 221a-c).8 Moreover, although he is initially hesitant to disclose his thoughts to

Triepho, he eventually concedes with language that directly alludes to the setting of the

Phaedrus:

ἀπίσκελ ἔλζα αἱ πιάηαλνη ηὸλ ἥιηνλ εἴξγνπζηλ, ἀεδόλεο δὲ θαὶ ρειηδόλεο

εὔερα θειαδνῦζηλ, ἵλ’ ἡ κειῳδία ηλ ὀξλέσλ ηὰο ἀθνὰο ἐλεδύλνπζα

ηό ηε ὕδσξ ἠξέκα θειαξύδνλ ηὰο ςπρὰο θαηαζέιμεηελ

Let us depart to where the plane-trees keep off the sun, and nightingales

and swallows pour forth sweet melodies, so that our souls may be

enchanted by the melody of the birds that delights the ears, and by the

gentle murmur of the water. (3)

Combined with the other Platonic allusions, this reference to the Phaedrus has the effect

of establishing Critias and his Platonic-pagan leanings as the topic of discussion here at

the opening of the dialogue.

The tool by which Triepho forces Critias to reconsider what he has believed to be

true, however, is not initially Christian doctrine but Lucian. This point is highlighted by

Triepho’s response to Critias’ Platonic suggestion that they conduct their discussion

under the plane trees: ἴσκελ, ὦ Κξηηία· ἀιιὰ δέδηα κή πνπ ἐπῳδὴ ηὸ ἠθνπζκέλνλ

ἐζηὶ θαί κε ὕπεξνλ ἢ ζύξεηξνλ ἢ ἄιιν ηη ηλ ἀςύρσλ ἀπεξγάζεηαη ἡ ζαπκαζία ζνπ αὕηε

θαηάπιεμηο (Let us go, Critias. But I am afraid that perhaps what you’ve heard is a magic

incantation and the wonders which amazed you will make into a pestle or a door or some

other inanimate object, 4). In contrast to Critias’ Platonic language, Triepho’s tongue- in-

cheek concern about the potential magical powers of what Critias has heard from his

8 This reference to the Symposium perhaps offer further proof of a Platonic resonance for Critias’ name,

since in the Charmides Socrates has just returned from Potidea and engages in a dialogue with Charmides

and his uncle Critias.

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teachers directly recalls a tale from Lucian’s Lover of Lies. According to Arignotus, one

of the participants in Lucian’s dialogue, a certain Pancrates had the power to make the

bar of a door, a broom, or a pestle behave as if human (35).9 This opening scene thus pits

the Platonic language of Critias against the Lucianic style of Triepho. Whereas Lucian

drew on different aspects of the comic tradition in his quest to reveal philosophical

corruption, here we find the author of the Patriot turning to Lucian to interrogate not

contemporary philosophers but pagan religion and possibly even theurgy.10

This point is reinforced when we consider how this single Lucianic allusion

affects the dynamics of the rest of the dialogue. Critias’ attempt to assuage Triepho’s

anxiety by invoking Zeus fails when the latter points to Zeus’ many indiscretions with

young maidens. Perplexed by Triepho’s rejection of Zeus, Critias offers the other

Olympians as alternatives, each of which is summarily rejected on the basis of their

sexual indiscretions or, in the case of Athena, connections to the Gorgon. After rejecting

the Olympian gods, Triepho shifts the focus away from Critias’ pagan interests by

offering the Christian God as the proper figure to swear by in language intended to

invoke the Trinity: ἓλ ἐθ ηξηλ θαὶ ἐμ ἑλὸο ηξία, ηνῦηνλ λόκηδε Ζῆλα, ηόλδ’ ἡγνῦ ζεόλ

(one from three and three from one, consider him your Zeus, believe him to be your God,

12). From this point onward, the roles are reversed: Triepho is no longer concerned with

Critias’ intellectual dissatisfaction but turns his focus to illustrating the superior value of

the Christian god. Read in light of what ensues, we can see Triepho invoking Lucianic

9 Macleod (1967: 423 n.7).

10 According to Struck (2004) and Johnston (2008), this is precisely what practitioners of theurgy could do,

namely to animate inanimate object through symbola or potentially even “charms.”

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language as tool to shift the Platonic Critias away from pagan interests to a more

Christian themed discussion.

The unknown author of this dialogue thus juxtaposes Critias’ Platonic language

with the Lucianic-Christian outlook of Triepho. This characterization of Triepho is

further emphasized in a description of St. Paul that Triepho offers in response to Critias’

confusion about the Trinity:

ζίγα ηὰ λέξζε θαὶ ηὰ ζηγῆο ἄμηα. νὐθ ἔζζ’ ὧδε κεηξεῖλ ηὰ ςπιιλ ἴρλε. ἐγὼ γάξ ζε δηδάμσ ηί ηὸ πᾶλ θαὶ ηίο

ὁ πξῴελ πάλησλ θαὶ ηί ηὸ ζύζηεκα ηνῦ παληόο· θαὶ γὰξ πξῴελ θἀγὼ

ηαῦηα ἔπαζρνλ ἅπεξ ζύ, ἡλίθα δέ κνη Γαιηιαῖνο ἐλέηπρελ, ἀλαθαιαληίαο,

ἐπίξξηλνο, ἐο ηξίηνλ νὐξαλὸλ ἀεξνβαηήζαο θαὶ ηὰ θάιιηζηα ἐθκεκαζεθώ,

δη’ ὕδαηνο ἡκᾶο ἀλεγέλλεζελ, ἐο ηὰ ηλ καθάξσλ ἴρληα παξεηζώδεπζε

θαὶ ἐθ ηλ ἀζεβλ ρώξσλ ἡκᾶο ἐιπηξώζαην. θαὶ ζὲ πνηήζσ, ἤλ κνπ

ἀθνύῃο, ἐπ’ἀιεζείαο ἄλζξσπνλ.

“Be quiet about the things below and the things worthy of silence.” We

don’t measure the footprints of fleas here. For I shall teach you what is

all, who existed before all else and how the universe works. For only the

other day I too was in the same state as you, but, when I was met by a

Galilean with receding hair and a long nose, who had walked on the air

into the third heaven and acquired the most glorious knowledge, he

regenerated us with water, led us into the paths of the blessed and

ransomed us from the impious places. If you listen to me, I shall make

you too a man in truth. (12)

While the first line of this speech is generally regarded as a comic line of unknown

origin, what is striking about this passage is its merging of language borrowed directly

from the Clouds (κεηξεῖλ ηὰ ςπιιλ ἴρλε and ἀεξνβαηήζαο) with references to the New

Testament. As we have seen, Lucian pinpoints the source of the conflict between

comedy and philosophy specifically in the Clouds and Plato’s reaction to that the play.

The Clouds therefore represents the source of Lucian’s problem and, ultimately, a

significant part of its solution. Lucian signals this fact to us in his repeated use of

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language evocative of the play to characterize both the current non-Lucianic form of

dialogue and the negative philosophical paradigm offered by such figures as Nigrinus.

The Clouds thus plays a dual role in Lucian’s creation of his literary program and

here the anonymous author of the Patriot uses it to similar effect. As I have already

suggested, Critias is initially portrayed as Socratic. In this passage, Triepho directly

responds to Critias’ assumed Socratic persona but, in a Lucianic move, does so through

the Clouds. By referencing Strepsiades’ initial encounter with Socrates’ Thinkery

(Clouds 145), Triepho invokes the Clouds and its representation of Socrates in order to

undermine the Platonic authority that Critias is attempting to assume. Triepho’s use of

the Clouds, however, is not solely negative. As he proceeds in his speech, he attributes

the participle ἀεξνβαηήζαο, which once again directly recalls Aristophanes’ portrayal of

Socrates, to describe St. Paul. Similar to Lucian’s use of the Clouds as a tool to both

articulate the problems of the contemporary dialogue form and create a new philosophical

approach, here we find Triepho invoking the Clouds first to distinguish what type of

knowledge he will not impart, specifically the worthless kind associated with Socrates’

Thinkery, and then to position that comic language within a Christian context. The

anonymous author of the Patriot thus mimics Lucian’s literary project but recasts

Lucian’s philosophical reinvention of comedy through a Christian lens.

Whereas Lucian turned to Aristophanes to reveal the corruption of philosophy,

Triepho invokes the comic poet to promote a Christian world view to Critias. Following

Triepho’s description of the promise of knowledge found in the figure of St. Paul, Critias

labels Triepho most learned (πνιπκαζέζηαηε) and asks to hear more. Instead of focusing

309

on St. Paul, as we might expect, Triepho comes back to Aristophanes, asking his

companion if he as ever read the Birds (13). When Critias acknowledges that he has,

Triepho proceeds to quote from the parabasis’ description of the origins of birds:

ἐγθεράξαθηαη παξ’ αὐηνῦ ηνηόλδε· Χάνο ἦλ θαὶ Νὺμ Ἔξεβόο ηε κέιαλ πξηνλ θαὶ Τάξηαξνο εὐξύο· γῆ δ’ νὐδ’ ἀὴξ νὐδ’ νὐξαλὸο ἦλ

He recorded the following thing: “At the start of time there was Chaos and

Night, black Erebos, and Tartarus deep, but earth and air and heaven were

not.” (13)

In what follows, these Aristophanic lines introduce a summary of creation designed to

illustrate the omnipotence of the Christian god. As the tale proceeds, however, Triepho

employs language that, as Macleod has noted, evokes not just the Old Testament but the

Gospel of Mathew, the Acts of the Apostles, and the book of Revelation as well. For

Triepho, Aristophanes or, rather, a Christian reinterpretation of him, which is itself

indebted to Lucian, represents an important stepping stone by which he will lead Critias

to accept Christianity.

In his discussion of this dialogue, Hilhorst contends that the Patriot depicts a clear

“loyalty to Christian belief involving a rejection of pagan religion.”11

To this I would add

that this is largely achieved through a reliance on Lucian. Whereas Lucian challenged

the pervading philosophical approaches with his philosophical reinvention of comedy, in

the Patriot we find the figure of Critias, who initially is the embodiment of Plato and the

subsequent religion that arose from his school, convinced to accept Christianity through

Lucian and a Christian reworking of his comedic-philosophical approach. The Patriot

11

Hilhorst (1993: 39).

310

thus points to the fact that Lucian’s literary achievement of uniting Old Comedy and

Platonic dialogue did not go unrecognized by later authors, who continued to view the

comic dialogue as useful for achieving their own purposes. Just as Lucian turned to the

power of Old Comedy to offer social critique, the Patriot suggests that later authors

viewed Lucian as achieving a similar purpose. If this hypothesis, which will require

further study, is correct, then it allows us to regard Lucian as achieving his goal of

situating himself as the heir to Aristophanes and the comic tradition.

311

Appendix: The Nebulous Genre of the Sophistic Prolalia

Lucian‟s prologues are generally considered to be one of the few extant examples of the

prolalia from the period known as the Second Sophistic. As Schmitz explains, a typical

performance by a traveling sophist began with a captatio benevolentiae in the form of a

prolalia before moving on to a longer speech, usually devoted to a mythological or

historical theme proffered by the audience.1 Used to describe this type of introductory

speech, however, the term prolalia is problematic since, as Stock has shown, it is not well

attested in antiquity.2 In fact, Menander Rhetor‟s third century analysis of these types of

speeches, which he refers to not as prolalia but as lalia, represents their earliest mention.3

According to his discussion, the lalia was one of the more useful forms of speech that a

sophist had at his disposal.4 Composed of both epideictic and deliberative rhetoric, these

1 For a discussion of the typical sophistic performance and the meaning behind it, see Schmitz (1997:197-

209). For an example of a non-Lucianic prologue, see the so-called “False Preface” to Apuleius‟ de Deo

Socratis.

2 See Stock (1911:6-10).

3 As Nesselrath points out, however, Dio and Apuleius wrote short rhetorical works similar to those of

Lucian, which might indicate, “as in most other developments, theory followed several steps behind the

actual emergence of prolalia in lectures.” Within the manuscripts, however, the term is used as a

subtitle for only the Dionysus and the Heracles, (1990:113-117). As Stock has demonstrated, Lucian‟s

pieces are not unlike similar examples found among the works of Dio Chrysostom, Apuleius, and in

Philostratus‟ Lives of the Sophists. For discussions of Dio, see Stock (1911: 41-66) and Mras (1949:74-

7). For discussions of Apuleius see Stock (1911: 69-74) and Mras (1949:81). For a discussion of

Philostratus, see Stock (1911:85-94).

4 Τὸ ηῆρ λαλιᾶρ εἶδορ σπηζιμώηαηόν ἐζηιν ἀνδπὶ ζοθιζηῇ, (The talk form is extremely useful to a sophist,

388). All translations of Menander Rhetor are those of Russell and Wilson (1981).

312

speeches were intended to convey the mindset of the sophist to his audience.5 The

definition of these speeches provided by Menander is thus broad enough that Lucian‟s

pieces fit well within this category, yet the at times vitriolic attacks on those who have

failed to grasp his work raise the question of whether they would have achieved the

captatio benevolentiae imagined by Schmitz.

The inclusion of Lucianic texts in the category of sophistic prologue has led some

to attempt to reconstruct their performative context. Most notably, Georgiadou and

Larmour have suggested that the Heracles and the Dionysus could have introduced each

of the two books of the True Histories, which they conjecture would not have been

performed at the same time, but over several performances.6 Yet as Georgiadou and

Larmour eventually concede, there is no hard evidence to support this hypothesis and it is

equally plausible, if not more so, that they were not attached to one particular text but

rather could have introduced any number of longer pieces.

Consequently Lucian‟s texts themselves provide a clearer, though certainly not

unambiguous, sense of the role these pieces may have placed. Though these texts are

quite varied in their subject matter and themes, certain patterns can be detected. In

several of the prologues, for example, Lucian reacts to misconceptions about himself or

his work that have caused him to be overlooked or snubbed by his audience. In the

Heracles, Lucian responds to what he sees as an ageist critique of him, while in the

5 Ὅηι μὲν οὖν ἐγκυμιάζειν καὶ τέγειν καὶ <πποηπέπειν καὶ> ἀποηπέπειν διὰ λαλιᾶρ ἔξεζηι, καὶ ὅηι

διαθέζειρ ηῆρ τςσῆρ καηαμηνύειν δέδοηαι διὰ ηῆρ λαλιᾶρ, οἷον λύπηνἡδονὴν ὀπγὴν ἤ ηι ηῶν ηοιούηυν,

ἱκανῶρ ἡμῖν πποείπηηαι,” (I have now explained sufficiently how it is possible to praise, blame,

<encourage, and> dissuade in the medium of the „talk,‟ and how this may also be used to express mental

attitudes of one‟s own, such as pain, pleasure, anger, etc. 393).

6 Georgiadou and Larmour (1995: 104-5).

313

Dionysus, the Literary Prometheus, and the Zeuxis he expresses annoyance that audiences

notice only the novel and comic aspects of his work, while they fail to observe its more

serious and traditional elements. Within these discussions we also find references to

Lucian‟s rivals and critics. Though Lucian at no point names who they might be, such

references create the sense of a sophistic rivalry, whether real or imagined, that these

prologues are engaging in.

As a period, the Second Sophistic is often characterized by the figure of the

sophist who demonstrates the large breadth of his learning through literary allusions and

references. Through his incorporation and manipulation of external genres into his

prologues, Lucian engages with the contemporary literary style at the same time as he

seeks to differentiate himself from them. In comparing Lucian‟s prologues to the

Aristophanic parabasis, I have proposed that we move away from the generic label of the

prolalia, which does little to elucidate these texts, and instead focus on the ways in which

Lucian uses intertextual references to comment on the trends of his day.

314

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